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THE 


fflDOY.  BEDOTT  PAPERS 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 


ALICE   B  NEAL 


NEW  YOPwK 
H.  W.  DERBY,  625  BROADWAY. 
18G1. 


Mcordlng  to  Act  cf  CoDgr«M,  ia  tfe«  ytnt  ISM,  ty 
rUBBY  4  lAOKSON, 
k  a«  Clerk's  OflSce  of  the  DUtriet  Court  of  iha  U.  S.  for  the  Southem  r>jetrict  of  N»w  Tatfc, 


W.  R,  Ti«oK,  Btereotyper.  Pudnkv  &  Rcmkli.  PiinteA 


c  o'n  t  l  n  , 
I. 

PAoa 

£[ezex'  n  Bedott   21 

IL 

Thb  Widow  Essays  Toetrt   21 

nr. 

Widow  Jenkdis'  Animosity   32 

IV. 

Mr.  Cra^ve  Walks  in   39 

V. 

Thb  Widow  Discourses  op  PtniPKixs.   47 

VI. 

The  Widow  Loses  her  Beau   59 

vn. 

Mb.  Crane  about  to  Propose  ,   70 

vm. 

Me.  Crane  Walks  out    79 


-  IX. 

PAoa 

TiiE  TViDOTV-  "Sets  uer  Cap"  ,   80 

X. 

The  Widow  Resolves  to  leave  Wiggletown   95 

XL 

The  Wmow  Teades  with  a  Peddler   107 

xn. 

The  Widow  aijd  Aunt  Maguire  Discourse  on  Various 
Topics   119 

XIIL 

The  Widow  haying  heard  that  Elder  Sniffles  is  Sick, 
Writes  to  hdi   134 

XIY. 

The  Widow  resorts  to  Elder  Sniffles  for  Religious  In- 
struction 141 

XV. 

The  Widow  concludes  to  Publish  162 

XYI. 

The  Widow  Prepares  to   Receive  Elder  Sniffles  on 
Thanksgiving-Day   161 

xvn. 

The  Widow  Retires  to  a  Prove  dt  the  Rear  of  Elder 
Sniffles' House  176 


CONTENTS.  vii 

xvm. 

PAG  a 

The  "Widow  T^rites  to  her  Daughter,  Mrs.  JlttTter  Smith.  .  184 

XIX. 

The  Key.  Mrs.  Sniffles  Abroad   191 

XX. 

The  Hey,  Mrs.  Sniffles  at  Home  '^04 

XXL 

The  IlE7.  Mrs.  Sniffles  Expresses  her  Sentiments  in  Re- 
gard TO  THE  Parsonage  222 

xxn. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Experience  231 

XXTTL 

Aunt  Maguire's  Description  op  the  Dovatiov  Pab.tt  2-45 

XXIV. 

Aunt  Maquire  Treats  of  the  Contemplated  Sewing  SeciETr 
at  Scrabble  Hell  273 

XXV. 

Aunt  Maguirb  Continues  heb  Account  op  the  S^y^Tsa 
SocrETT  293 

XXVI. 

Axnrr  Maguire's  Visit  to  Slabtow  , ,   ...  313 


fiii 


CONTENTS 


XXVII. 

PAOB 

Visit  to  Slabtown  contixoed   330 

xxvin. 

Mrs.  Magdire's  Accojxt  of  Deacon  "Whipple  345 

XXIX. 

Mas,  Mudlaw's  Recipe  for  Potato  Pudding  359 

XXX. 

)t  .-uiiNO  Calls  ;  oe.  Every  body's  Particular  Friend  SftS 


INTRODUCTORY. 

The  Bedott  Papers — now  for  the  first  time  collected, 
were  first  widely  introduced  to  public  notice  through  the 
columns  of  "  Neal's  Saturday  Gazette." 

Its  editor — Joseph  C.  Neal,  the  well  known  author  of  the 
"  Charcoal  Sketches,"  was  struck  by  the  originality  and  clear- 
ness  of  the  first  of  the  series,  when  submitted  among  the 
mass  of  contributions,  which  crowd  a  weekly  newspaper. 
It  was  scarcely  in  print  before  the  author's  name  began  to 
be  asked  by  subscribers,  casual  readers,  and  brother  editors, 
some  of  whom  attributed  them  to  Mr.  Neal  himself.  They 
could  scarcely  be  made  to  believe  that  sketches  so  full  of 
humor,  so  remarkable  for  minute  observation  of  human  na- 
ture, were  the  w^ork  of  an  unpracticed  pen. 

A  correspondence  arising  in  this  way  between  the  editor 
and  his  unknown  contributor,  JVIr.- Neal  learned  that  "the 
Widow  Bedott,"  as  she  was  familiarly  called,  had  not  even 
entered  the  "  holy  estate,"  but- was  still  the  center  of  a  hap- 
py home  circle,  in  Whitesboro',  New  York.  That  she  had 
never  before  written  for  publication,  and  w^as  so  sensitively 
modest,  and  indeed  unaware  of  her  remarkable  talent  as  a 
humorist,  that  she  was  quite  willing  to  cease  then  arid  thera 

1* 


INTRODUCTOR  Y. 


the  history  of  the  Widow's  adventures.  Mr.  Neal's  reply 
to  this  despondent  mood,  was  perhaps  decisive  as  regards 
the  continuation  of  the  series,  and  we  quote  it  as  preserved 
among  her  papers.  It  has  the  more  value  as  being  the 
unsolicited  opinion  of  a  practiced  critic  who  possessed  the 
keenest  natural  sense  of  humor. 

"  Philadelphia,  September,  lOtb,  ISiS. 
"My  Dear  Correspondent  Bedott: 

"  Your  last  contributions  have  been  received,  and  are 
truly  welcome  The  "  Gazette"  is  again  deeply  your  debtor ; 
for  j^oui  aid  has  been  indeed  truly  valuable  to  "  Neal." 
But  I  regret  to  find  that  Duberly  Doubtington  has  cast  a 
"  glamour"  over  you  about  continuing  in  the  comic  vein,  just 
at  the  moment  too,  when  all  the  world  is  full  of  Bedott. 
Our  readers  tallc  of  nothing  else,  and  almost  despise  "  Neal" 
if  the  Widow  be  not  there.  An  excellent  critic  in  these 
matters,  said  to  me  the  other  day,  that  he  regarded  them  as 
the  best  Yankee  papers  yet  written,  and  such  is  indeed  the 
general  sentiment.  I  know  for  instance,  of  a  lady  who  for 
several  days  after  reading  one  of  them,  was  continually, 
ind  often,  at  moment?  the  most  inopportune,  bursting 
forth  into  fits  of  violent  laughter,  and  believe  me  that  you, 
gifted  with  such  powers,  ought  not  to  speak  disparagingly 
t  f  the  gift  which  thus  brings  wholesome  satire  home  t<r 
every  reader.  It  is  a  theory  of  mine  that  those  gifted  with 
truly  humorous  genius^  like  yourself,  arc  more  useful  as  moral- 
taij^f  philosophers,  and  teachers,  than  whole  legions  of  the 
rfTfT^v^sf.  ^•trprsjT.hjf''^^,  Tkey  speak  more  effectually  to  the  general 
SOT  arid  hear%  even  though  they  who  hear  are  not  aware  of 
the  fact  ^Mf  they  are  imbibing  wisdom. 

Ki?r?  if  you  have  more  imperative  duties,  1  should 
V'f  i;*-^*- ..wish  that  vou  should  neglect  them;  but  if 


INTRODUCTORY. 


xi 


vour  hesitations  arise  from  Jther  scruples,  it  appears  to  me 
that  if  you  were  to  weigh  them  well  they  may  be  found 
mere  intangibilities.  But  of  all  this  you,  of  course,  must 
be  the  judge,  and  any  interference  on  my  part  would  be  in- 
trusive  and  impertinent. 

"But  I  would  add  that  Mr.  Godey  called  on  mt-  to  inquire 
as  to  the  authorship  of  the  "  Bedott  Papers"  wishing  evi- 
dently to  obtain  you  for  a  correspondent  to  the  "  Lady's 
Book."  I  declined  giving  him  the  name,  etc.,  until  I  had 
consulted  you,  checking  the  selfish  impulse  that  would  have 
denied  him,  that  "  Neal"  might  monopolize  a  correspond- 
ent so  valued  as  "  Frank."  Would  you  like  to  hear  from 
him  on  the  subject  ? 

"  Think  on  it  then  before  yielding  up  the  pen  of  comedy, 
but  in  any  event,  whether  you  conclude  to  be  eithei  serious 
or  comic, 

"  Believe  me  ever  yours, 

"Joseph  C.  Neal." 

The  result  of  Mr.  Godey 's  negotiations  will  be  found  m 
"  Aunt  Maguire's  Experience" — Aunt  Maguire,  being  cer- 
tainly worthy  of  her  distinguished  relationship.* 

The  New  Year  found  Miriam  Berry  a  bride,  and  separated 
from  the  cherished  and  cherishing  home  circle,  with  new 
duties  and  responsibilities  as  the  wife  of  a  clergyman. 
Yet  to  quote  from  a  charming  memorial  from  the  pen  of 
an  almoiiit  equally  g^ifted  sister,  "  Her  sketches  even  under 
these  circumstances,  require  neither  vindication  nor  apology. 
They  were  never  condemned  by  any  except  those  who  folt 

*  We  may  here  add  that,  as  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Neal,  the  friendly  interest 
of  the  courteous  editor  of  the  "  Lady's  Book"  deepened  from  that  time, 
and  it  is  with  his  warmest  approval  and  predictions  of  success  that  th« 
volume  containing  hoth  series,  is  t<)w  issued. 


xii 


■INTRODUCTORY. 


the  stmg  of  her  satire  pricking  against  their  vices.  The 
good  sense  of  the  entire  reading  public  gave  Ihem  praise, 
and  their  popularity  was  abundantly  shown  in  the  eagerness 
with  which  the  country  press  copied  them  from  the  Phila- 
delphia papers.  Her  humor  was  chaste  and  original,  so 
true  to  nature  that  the  most  ignorant  reader  could  not  fail 
to  feel  its  force,  and  the  most  refined  could  discover  nothing 
that  would  shock  the  keenest  sensibility.  From  the  time 
of  Horace  to  the  present,  it  has  al^  ays  been  thought  proper, 
and  often  profitable,  to  ^  speak  the  truth  laughing.'  And 
the  best  moralists  have  acknowleged  that  laughter,  vfhen 
aimed  at  folly,  was  a  salutary  means  of  improvement,  and 
a  great  aid  to  virtue.  Indeed  we  have  the  precedent  of  In- 
spiration itself,  to  use  the  most  pointed  satire  in  our  at- 
tempts to  promote  the  welfare  of  our  fellows.  And  this 
was  her  only  aim ;  for,  whether  she  depicted  the  verbosity 
of  the  self-sufficient  preacher,  or  portrayed  the  vulgar  co- 
queteries  of  the  inconsolable  widow — whether  she  held  up 
to  view  the  would-be  literary  circle,  or  narrated  the  gossip 
of  the  sewing-society,  her  only  object  was 

"  'the  gift  to  gie  'em 
To  see  tliemaels  as  others  see  'em ! 
Which  wad  frae  monie  a  hlunder  free  'era, 
An'  foolish  notion.'  " 

Such,  then,  was  the  origin  of  the  "Bedott  Papers,"  their 
characteristics  and  their  aim.  By  the  early  death  of  theii 
wonderfully  gifted  author,  they  have  become  a  literary 
heritage  to  her  family,  and  the  publication  has  been  decided 
upon  by  them,  after   repeated   solicitations   from  both 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Strangers  and  friends,  who  were  anxious  to  have  in  a  coi 
lected  and  accessible  form  articles  they  had  enjoyed  so  much 
as  fugitive  sketches.  Tor  ourselves,  we  have  never  had  but 
one  opinion.  We  remember,  as  if  had  been  but  yesterday.^ 
the  mirth-mc'ed  family  circle  that  listened  to  the  reading 
of  the  first  of  the  series  with  almost  convulsive  laughter ; 
and  fiom  that  time  until  we  corrected  the  jtfoof-sheets  of 
the  last,  considered  them  among  the  cleverest,  as  they  cer 
tainly  were  the  most  popular  of  any  humorous  articles 
an  American  author. 

Though  among  Mrs.  W  's*  warm.est  personal  friends, 

we  never  had  the  often  desired  pleasure  of  meeting  her  face  to 
face.  Yet  it  is  through  a  correspondence  bequeathed  to  us, 
as  the  successor  to  Mr.  Neal's  editorial  engagements,  and 
some  of  his  most  genial  friendships,  that  the  sister  before 
alluded  to,  gathered  much  of  the  material  for  a  sketch  of  her 
life  and  character. 

Never  was  there  a  more  remarkable  contrast  presented, 
and  we  quote  her  own  words,  for  the  causes  operating  to 
produce  it. 

"Your  last  kind  -letter  was  very  gratifying.  Tlie  acquisi 
tion  of  a  new  friend  is  a  source  of  great  pleasure  to  me ;  foi 
I  assure  you  that  it  has  never  been  my  lot  to  have  many 
friends.  And  I  will  tell  you  what  I  believe  to  be  the  secret 
of  it :  I  received  at  my  birth,  the  undesirable  gift  of  a  re- 
markably strong  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  I  can  scarcely 
remember  the  time  when  the  neighbors  were  not  afraid  thai 

*  Miss  Berry  wns  subsequently  married  to  liar  B.  W.  W)  icher,  o< 
Whitesboro',  N.  Y. 


XIV 


INTRODUCTOKY. 


I  would  '  make  fun  of  them.'  For  indulging  in  thispropen 
sity,  I  was  scolded  at  home,  and  wept  over  and  prayed  with, 
by  certain  well-meaning  old  maids  in  the  neighborhood ;  but 
all  to  no  purpose.  The  only  reward  of  their  labors  was 
frequently  their  likenesses  drawn  in  charcoal  and  pinned  to 
the  corners  of  their  shawls,  with,  perhaps,  a  descriptive 
verse  below.  Of  course  I  had  not  many  friends,  even 
among  my  own  playmates.  And  yet,  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this  deviltry,  there  was  a  warm,  affectionate  heart — if  any 
were  really  kind  to  me,  how  I  loved  them ! 

"I  think  now,  that  I  was  not  properly  trained.  My 
errors  should  have  been  checked  in  a  different  way  from 
that  which  was  adopted.  I  ought  to  have  received  more 
tender  treatment.  I  became  a  lonely  child,  almost  without 
companionship ;  wandering  alone,  for  hours,  in  the  woods 
and  fields,  creating  for  myself  an  ideal  world,  and  in  that 
ideal  world  I  lived  for  many  years.  At  times  I  was  melan- 
choly almost  to  despair.  My  reserve  and  sadness  were 
called  haughtiness  and  pride.  When  the  best  part  of  my 
life,  or  rather  what  should  have  been  the  best  part  of  it, 
was  gone,  I  met  my  husband.  He  was  the  first  who  pcne 
trated  the  icy  vail  about  me,  sympathized  with  me,  and 
turned  ray  feet  into  a  better  path  than  they  had  trodden 
before." 

A  modest,  humble-hearted  Christian  woman  "  at  the  bot 
toni  of  all  this,"  as  she  says,  she  remained  until  her  pen 
was  la^d  aside  for  the  last  time,  and  she  passed  to  a  home 
where  all  doubt  and  misunderstanding  are  denied  an  en- 
trance. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


XV 


"  How  she  looked,  spoke  and  moved,"  those  who  reaOx 
these  sketches  will  doubtless  ask,  as  did  we,  at  an  ear'y 
period  of  the  correspondence.  It  was  met  by  her  witn  * 
playful  rhymed  response,  of  which  we  can  recall  but  a  frag- 
ment, declaring  she  had 

"  Hands  and  feet 
Of  respectable  size, 
Mud-colored  hair, 
And  dubious  eyes," 

To  the  last,  she  evaded  any  thing  like  the  self-portraiture  so 
common  among  a  certain  class  of  female  writers,  who  are  as 
willing  to  give  their  faces  as  their  sketches  to  the  public. 

Since  this  would  still  seem  to  be  the  feeling  of  those  most 
easily  interested,  we  pass  to  the  peculiar  artistic  cleverness 
of  the  original  illustrations,  which  usually  accompanied  her 
"  Table  Talks."  They  were  done  as  rapidly  as  her  pencil 
could  move,  a  few  strokes  "  telling  the  whole  story."  Of 
the  rise  and  progress  of  this  remarkable  talent,  we  have 
some  characteristic  anecdotes  in  Miss  Berry's  sketch  of  her 
sister's  childhood. 

"  Her  school  education  was  more  varied  than  beneficial. 
Her  first  teacher  was  a  sour-faced  woman,  who  knocked  the 
alphabet  with  her  thimble  into  the  heads  of  a  little  group  of 
unruly  children,  at  so  much  '  a  quarter,'  with  small  love, 
and  no  just  appreciation  of  the  dawning  minds  under  he*' 
care.  It  was  the  unwise  and  cruel  practice,  then  more  gen 
erally  than  at  present,  though  still  not  quite  exploded,  of 
sending  little  creatures,  only  four  or  five  years  old,  to  be 
shut  up  in  a  school-room  six  hours  of  each  day. 


xvi 


INTRODU  CTOR Y. 


"  But  there  was  one  good  custom  then,  wliich,  where  our 
limited  observation  extends,  seems  to  be  quite  un thought  of, 
if  not  despised,  in  the  present  girls'  schools — that  of  teach- 
ing the  pupils  to  sew.  The  object  now  appears  to  be  to  in- 
struct them  most  in  what  they  shall  least  need  to  know 
afterward.  Well,  little  Miriam  was  told  by  her  teacher  to 
bring  some  kind  of  work  to  busy  herself  with  in  school ; 
so,  being  furnished  with  a  long  narrow  strip  of  old  nwislin, 
she  went  prepared  to  take  her  first  lesson  in  the  art  of 
"  scolloping."  How^  steadily  the  small  hands  stitched  away, 
till  the  child  was  summoned  by  her  serious-faced  teacher  to 
the  table,  to  have  her  work  inspected.    What  was  Miss 

 's  amazement  on  discovering  that  Miriam  had  adhered 

but  a  very  little  way  to  her  pattern,  when,  leaving  it  entire- 
ly, she  had  worked  a  long  row  of  heads  on  the  muslin,  after 
a  stitch  of  her  own  choosing. 

"  '  What  a  pity,'  said  the  careful  woman  who  spoke  with 
a  strong  nasal  accent,  '  to  waste  all  that  'ere  nice  muslin ! 
Jest  take  it  home,  and  fetch  some  old  stuff  to-morrow ;  and 
work  it  good,  too.    Don't  make  any  more  of  them  heads.' 

"  But  Miriam  had  a  piece  of  bran-new  muslin  given  to  her 
at  home,  when  she  repeated  her  teacher's  orders,  with  the 
permission  to  make  as  many  heads  on  it  as  she  pleased. 
Whether  this  act  of  high-handed  rebellion  was  continued,  we 
know  not ;  for,  in  telling  the  story,  as  we  have  heard  her  do, 
with  many  amusing  accessories,  she  proceeded  no  further. 
Tliis  little  incident,  it  would  seem,  was  the  most  deeply  im- 
pressed upon  her  mem  or  t  of  any  thing  connected  with  her 
first  school-teacher. 


INTRODUCTORY.  Xvii 

"  A  second  time  was  little  ^Miriam  introduced  within  the 
walls  of  the  academy,  but  under  a  new  and  quite  different 
dynasty.  The  principal  was  the  kindest  hearted  and  most 
indulgent  of  pedagogues,  well  skilled  in  mathematics  and 
learned  in  all  classic  lore ;  greatly  successful,  moreover,  in 
*  fitting  young  men  for  college,'  as  the  phrase  goes.  But 
the  younger  fry  were  left  to  take  care  of  themselves,  or  at 
most  received  a  kind  of  desultory  instruction  from  some 
older  pupil,  while  their  misbehavior  was  kindly  overlooked 
by  the  classical  master.  Lightly  passed  her  school-days 
now,  but  her  education,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word  was 
advancing.  Within  the  school-house  walls,  the  child's  al- 
ready observant  mind  and  keen  perception  of  the  ludicrous 
found  occupation  and  food  in  watching  the  countenances  and 
conduct  of  those  who  surrounded  her ;  while  her  lonely 
rambles  abroad  taught  her  much  that  your  thorough-faced 
pedagogue  utterly  ignores. 

"  Her  slate  did  not  always  present  the  sums  in  addition 
duly  set,  whicli  it  ought.  The  stiff,  tallowed  locks  and  long- 
nosed  visages  of  the  serious  matter-of-fact  young  men,  in- 
tently poring  over  their  Virgils  and  Latin  grammars,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  were  oftener  transferred  by 
her  pencil  to  its  surface.  She  could  no  more  keep  from 
drawing  a  striking  or  peculiar  set  of  features,  than  she  could 
stop  her  heart's  beating ;  but  she  had  no  thought  of  giving 
pain,  and  was  unwilling  to  have  her  pictures  seen.  Some- 
times a  mischievous  companion,  possessi,?^^  herself  of  one, 
would  d '.splay  it.  If  the  unfortunate  subject  had  the  happy 
fiwjulty  of  taking  a  joke,  he  passed  it  off  with  a  laugh.  But 


xvlii 


INTROD  U  CTOE Y. 


a  maiter-oi-faot,  shy,  sensitive  youth  regarded  Miriam  after- 
ward with  insuperable  dread.  We  well  remember  one 
who,  finding  himself  graphically  set  forth  with  the  quite 
imaginary  addition  of  a  parasol  over  his  head,  and  bows, 
with  floating  ends  on  his  coat  skirts,  left  school  in  dismay, 
and  did  not  again  attend. 

"  Her  copy-book  presented  an  appearance  very  unlike 
those  of  her  school-mates.  She  followed  no  formally  set 
copy,  but  wrote  little  poems  which  had  struck  her  fancy  in 
reading,  interspersed  with  an  occasional  verse  of  her  own, 
the  margms  being  adorned  with  heads  and  various  devices, 
something  after  the  ancient  fashion,  modernly  revived,  of 
embellishing  books. 

"In  the  art  of  drawing  she  never  had  a  master^  the  only 
instruction  she  received  being  a  few  hints  from  a  relative 
gifted  with  a  like  talent.  The  itinerant  professors  of  paint- 
ing and  kindred  accomplishments  who  stopped  at  times,  in 
^er  native  village,  were  incapable  of  improving  such  an  en- 
dowment as  hers.  Their  chefs-d'oeuvres  on  velvet,  their  red 
and  green  birds,  and  extraordinary  '  flower-pieces'  done  by 
theorems,  their  impossible  Scripture  scenes,  gave  her  infinite 
amusement.  She  should  have  studied  with  a  true  artist, 
but  no  such  opportunity  presented  itself—  a  subject  of  deep 
regret  to  her  in  after  years,  as  Iheruin  she  believed  the 
proper  development  of  her  powers  iK)dld  have  been  found." 

Such  was  the  erratic  training  and  chance  development  of 
rare — ^indeed  almost  unprecedented— original  talent;  for 
what  humorist  has  ever  so  cleailj  Illustrated  his  own 
sketches  of  life  and  character.    The  ^ery  erpression  of  the 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Widow's  nose  and  the  Elder's  spectacles,  are  a  promise  to 
the  mirth-loving  reader  of  good  things  at  hand;  and  we 
leave  them  with  the  assurance  that  the  promise  will- more 
than  he  fulfilled. 

A..  B.  N, 


«:iDO¥  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


I. 

filtliiali  iclJirtt. 

YTE  was  a  wonderfui  hand  to  moralize,  husband 
-was,  'specially  after  he  begun  to  enjoy  poor 
health.  He  made  an  observation  once  when  he  was 
in  one  of  his  poor  turns,  that  I  never  shall  forget  the 
longest  day  I  live.  He  says  to  me  one  winter  evenin' 
as  we  was  a  settin'  b}'  tho  fire,  I  Avas  a  knittin'  (I  was 
always  a  wonderful  great  knitter)  and  he  was  a 
smokin'  (he  was  a  master  hand  to  smoke,  though  the 
doctor  used  to  tell  him  he 'd  be  better  off  to  let 
tobackcr  alone ;  v/hon  he  was  well,  used  to  take  his 
pipe  and  smoke  a  spell  after  he 'd  got  the  chores  done 
up,  and  when  he  wa'n't  well,  used  to  smoke  the  big- 
gest part  o'  the  time).^  Well,  he  took  his  pipe  out  of 
his  mouth  and  turned  toward  me,  and  I  knowed  some- 
thing was  comin',  for  he  had  a  pertikkeler  way  of 
lookin'  round  when  he  was  gwine  to  say  any  thing 
OQCommon.    Well,  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  "  Silly/' 


22 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


(my  name  was  Prissilly  naterallj,  but  lie  ginerally 
called  me  Silly,"  cause  'twas  handier,  you  know.) 
"Well;  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  "  Silly,"  and  he  looked 
pretty  sollem,  I  tell  you,  he  had  a  sollem  countenance 
naterally — and  after  he  got  to  be  deacon  ^twas  more 
so,  but  since  he 'd  lost  his  health  he  looked  sollemer 
than  ever,  and  certingly  you  wouldent  wonder  at  it  if 
you  knowed  how  much  he  underwent.  He  was 
troubled  with  a  wonderful  pain  in  his  chest,  and 
amazin'  weakness  in  the  spine  of  his  back,  besides  the 
pleurissy  in  the  side,  and  having  the  ager  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  time,  and  bein'  broke  of  his  rest 
o'  nights  'cause  he  was  so  put  to 't  for  breath  when  In 
laid  down.  Why  its  an  onaccountable  fact  that  when 
that  man  died  he  hadent  seen  a  well  day  in  fifteen 
year,  though  when  he  was  married  and  for  five  or  six 
year  after  I  shouldent  desire  to  see  a  ruggcder  man 
than  what  he  was.  But  the  time  I 'm  speakin'  of  he'd 
been  out  o'  health  nigh  upon  ten  year,  and  0  -dear 
sakes !  how  he  had  altered  since  the  first  time  I  ever 
see  him  I  That  was  to  a  quiltin'  to  Squire  Smith's  a 
spell  afore  Sally  was  married.  I 'd  n  o  idee  then  that  Sal 
Smith  was  a  gwine  to  be  married  to  Sam  Pendergrass. 
Se 'd  ben  keepin'  company  with  Mose  Hewlitt,  for 
better  'n  a  year,  and  every  body  said  that  was  a  settled 
thing,  and  lo  and  behold!  all  of  a  sudding  she  up 
and  took  Sam  Pendergrass.  Well,  that  was  the 
first  time  I  ever  see  my  husband,  and  if  any  body  ''.^ 


HEZEKIAH  BEDOTT. 


23 


a  told  me  tlien  that  I  should  ever  marry  him, 
I  should  a  said — ^but  lawful  sakes !  I  most  forgot,  I 
was  gwine  to  tell  you  what  he  said  to  me  that  evenin', 
and  when  a  body  begins  to  tell  a  thing  I  believe  in 
finishin'  on 't  some  time  or  other.  Some  folks  have  a 
way  of  talkin'  round  and  round  and  round  for  ever- 
more, and  never  comin'  to  the  pint.  Now  there's 
Miss  Jinkins,  she  that  was  Poll  Bingham  afore  she  was 
married,  she  is  the  tejusest  individooal  to  tell  a  story 
tha..  ever  I  see  in  all  my  born  days.  But  I  was  a 
gwine  to  tell  you  what  husband  said.  He  says  to  mc 
eays  he,  "Silly,"  says  I,  "What?"  I  dident  say 
What,  Hezekier?"  for  1  dident  like  his  name.  The 
first  time  I  ever  heard  it  I  near  killed  myself  a  laffin. 
"  Hezekier  Bedott,"  says  I,  "  well,  I  would  give  up  if 
I  had  sich  a  name/'  but  then  you  know  I  had  no  more 
idee  o'  marryin'  the  feller  than  you  have  this  minnit 
o'  marryin'  the  governor.  I  s'pose  you  think  it 's 
curus  we  should  a  named  our  oldest  son  Hezekier 
Well,  we  done  it  to  please  father  and  mother  Bedott, 
it  h  father  Bedott's  name,  and  he  and  mother  Bedott 
both  used  to  think  that  names  had  ought  to  go  dovm 
from  gineration  to  gineration.  But  we  always  called 
him  Kier,  you  know.  Speakin'  o'  Kier,  he  is  a  bless- 
in',  ain't  he?  and  I  ain't  the  only  one  that  thinks  so, 
I  guess.  Now  don't  you  never  tell  nobody  that  I  said 
so,  but  between  you  and  me  I  rather  guess  that  if 
Kczier  Winkle  thinks  slie  is  a  gwine  to  ketch  Kici 


24 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Bedott  slie  is  a  hetle  out  of  her  reckonin'.  But  I  waa 
going  to  tell  what  husband  said.  He  says  to  me,  says 
he,  Silly,"  I  says,  says  I,  "  What  ?"  K I  dident  say 
"  what"  when  he  said  "  Silly,"  he 'd  a  kept  on  sajdng 
"  Silly,"  from  time  to  eternity.  He  always  did,  be- 
cause, you  know,  he  wanted  me  to  pay  pertikkeler 
attention,  and  I  ginerally  did ;  no  w^oman  was  ever 
more  attentive  to  her  husband  than  what  I  was. 
Well,  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  "  Silly."  Sa\'S  I, 
"  What  ?"  though  I 'd  no  idee  w^hat  he  was  gwine  io 
say,  dident  know  but  what  'twas  something  about  his 
sufferings,  though  he  wa'n't  apt  to  complain,  but  he 
frequently  used  to  remark  that  he  wouldent  wish  his 
woret  enemy  to  suffer  one  minnit  as  he  did  all  the 
time,  but  that  can't  be  called  grumblin' — think  it  can? 
Why,  I 've  seen  him  in  sitivations  when  you 'd  a 
thought  no  mortal  could  a  helped  grumblin',  but  he 
dident.  He  and  me  went  once  in  the  dead  o'  winter 
in  a  one  hoss  slay  out  to  Boonville  to  see  a  sister  o' 
hisen.  You  know  the  snow  is  amazin'  deep  in  that 
section  o'  the  kentry.  Well,  the  hoss  got  stuck  m 
one  o'  them  are  fiambergasted  snow-banks,  and  there 
we  sot,  onable  to  stir,  and  to  cap  all,  while  we  was  a 
sittin'  there,  husband  was  took  with  a  dretful  crick  in 
his  back.  Now  that  was  what  I  call  a  perdickerment, 
don't  you  ?  Most  men  would  a  swore,  but  husband 
dident.  He  only  said,  says  he,  "  Consarn  it."  How 
did  we  get  out,  did  you  ask  ?    Why  we  might  a  beeii 


i 


HEZEKIAH  BEDOTT. 


1^5 


sittin'  there  to  tliis  day  fur  fis  /know,  if  there  hadent 
a  happened  to  come  along  a  mess  o'  men  in  a  double 
team  and  they  hysted  ns  out.  But  I  was  gwine  to 
tell  you  that  observation  o'  hisen.  Says  he  to  me, 
says  he,  Silly,"  (I  could  see  by  the  light  o'  the  fire, 
there  dident  happen  to  be  no  candle  burnin',  if  I  don't 
disremember,  though  my  memory  is  sometimes  nither 
forgjtful,  bnt  I  know  we  wa'n't  apt  to  burn  candles 
exceptin'  when  we  had  company)  I  could  see  by  the 
light  of  the  fire  that  his  mind  was  oncommon  solemn- 
ized. Says  he  to  me,  says  he,  "Silly."  I  says  to 
him,  says  I,  "What?"  He  says  to  me,  oays  he, 
Ve  all  poor  critters  I ' 


II. 


Mibulij  eEssaHS  '§utxu. 

'^j^ES — lie  was  one  o'  tlie  best  men  that  ever  trod 
shoe-leather  husband  was,  though  Miss  Jinkina 
says  (she  'twas  Poll  Bingham)  she  says,  I  never  found 
it  out  till  after  he  died,  but  that 's  the  consarndesi  lie 
that  ever  was  told,  though  it 's  jest  of  a  piece  vrith 
every  thing  else  she  says  about  me.  I  guess  if  every 
body  could  see  the  poitiy  I  writ  to  his  memory,  no- 
body wouldent  think  I  dident  set  store  by  hira. 
Want  to  hear  it  ?  Well,  I  '11  see  if  I  can  say  it ;  it 
ginerally  affects  me  wonderfully,  seems  to  harrer  up 
my  feelins ;  but  I  'U  ry.  Dident  know  I  over  writ 
poetry  ?  how  you  talk  I  used  to  make  Jots  on 't ;  haint 
so  much  late  years.  I  remember  once  when  Parson 
Potter  had  a  bee,  I  sent  him  an  amazin'  great  cheese, 
and  I  writ  a  piece  o'  poitry  and  pasted  on  top  on 't. 
It  says : 

Teaca  liim  for  to  proclaim 

Salvation  to  *;]ie  ibl'^i:, 
Ko  occfl.^lou  give  fo^  uiiv  blame 

Nor  wicked  pejp'.o's  jokes. 

And  so  it  goes  on,  but  I.  guess  I  won't  stop  to  say  the 
rest  on 't  now,  seein'  there's  seven  and  forty  verses 


fllF   ^VirOW   ESSAYS  POETRY. 


27 


Parsufx  Pottc^r  t^jal  Lis  wife  was  wonderfully  pleased 
with  it,  used  to  s:rig  it.  to  the  tune  o'  Haddem.  But  I 
was  gwine  to  toll  tiie  ono  I  made  in  relation  to  hus- 
band, it  begins  as  feelers  : 

lie  never  jawed  m  all  liis  life, 

He  never  was  onklnO — 
And  (tbo'  I  say  ik  tiiav  w.xs  his  wife) 

Such  men  you  StldoXD  und. 

(That 's  as  true  as  the  Scripturi=*,  X  never  knowed  him 
to  say  a  harsh  word.) 

1  never  changed  my  single  lot — 
I  thought 't  would  be  a  sin — 

(though  widder  Jinkins  says  it 's  because  I  never  had 
a  chance.)  Now 't  ain't  for  me  to  say  whether  I  ever 
had  a  numerous  number  o'  chances  or  not,  but  there 's 
them  livin'  that  might  tell  if  they  was  a  mind  to ; 
why,  this  poitry  was  writ  on  account  of  being  joked 
about  Major  Coon,  three  year  after  husband  died.  I 
guess^  the  ginerality  o'  folks  knows  what  was  the 
nature  o'  Major  Coon's  feelins  toward  me,  tho'  his 
wife  and  Miss  Jinkins  does  say  I  tried  to  ketch  him. 
The  fact  is,  Miss  Coon  feels  wonderfally  cut  up  'cause 
she  knows  the  Major  took  her  ^'  Jack  at  a  pinch" — 
seein'  he  couldent  get  such  as  he  wanted,  he  took  such 
as  he  could  get — ^but  I  goes  on  to  say — 

I  never  changed  my  single  lot — 

I  thougljt  't  would  be  a  sin — 
For  1  thought  so  much  o'  Deacon  Bcdott 

I  never  got  married  afjin. 


28 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERH. 


If  ever  a  Losty  word  be  spoke 

His  anger  djdent  last. 
But  vanished  like  tobacker  smoke  • 

Afore  the  wint'ry  blast. 

And  since  it  was  my  lot  to  be 
The  wife  of  such  a  man, 
tell  the  men  that 's  after  me 
To  ketch  me  il'  they  can. 

If  I  was  sick  a  single  jot 
He  called  the  doctor  in — 

That 's  a  fact — he  used  to  be  scairt  to  death  if  any  thing 
ailed  me,  now  only  jest  think — widder  Jinkins  told 
Sam  Pendergrasses  wife  (she  'twas  Sally  Smith)  that 
she  guessed  the  deacon  dident  set  no  great  store  by 
me,  or  he  wouldent  a  went  off  to  confrence  meetin' 
when  I  was  dovf n  with  the  fever.  The  truth  is,  they 
couldent  git  along  without  him  no  way.  Parson  Pot- 
ter seldom  went  to  confrence  meetin',  and  when  he 
wa'n't  there,  who  was  ther,  pray  tell,  that  knowed 
enough  to  take  the  lead  if  husband  dident  do  it? 
Deacon  Kenipe  hadent  no  gift,  and  Deacon  Crosby 
hadent  no  inclination,  and  so  i  c  all  come  on  to  Deacon 
Bedott — and  he  was  always  ready  and  willin'  to  do 
his  duty,  you  know ;  as  long  as  he  was  able  to  stand 
on  his  legs  he  continued  to  go  to  confrence  meetin ; 
why,  I've  knowed  that  man  to  go  when  he  couldent 
scarcely  crawl  on  account  o'  the  pain  in  the  spine  of 
his  back.  He  had  a  wonderful  gift,  and  he  wa'n't  a 
man  to  keep  his  talents  hid  up  in  a  napkin — so  you 
Bee  't  was  from  a  sense  o'  duty  lie  went  when  I  was 


THE   WIDOW   ESSxVrS  POETRY. 


29 


sick,  whatever  Miss  Jinkins  may  sav  to  the  contrary. 
But  where  was  I  ?  0 — 

If  I  was  sick  a  single  jot 

He  called  the  doctor  in — 
I  sot  so  much,  store  by  Deacon  Bedott 

I  never  got  married  agin. 

A  -vyonderful  tender  heart  he  had 

That  felt  for  all  mankind — 
It  made  him  feel  amazin'  bad 

To  see  the  world  so  blind. 

Whiskey  and  rum  he  tasted  not — 

That's  as  true  as  the  Scripturs — but  if  you '11  belie v'e 
it,  Betsy,  Ann  Kenipe  told  my  Melissy  that  Miss  Jin- 
kins said  one  day  to  their  house  how 't  she 'd  seen 
Deacon  Bedott  high,  time  and  agin!  did  you  ever  I 
Well,  I 'm  glad  nobody  don't  pretend  to  mind  any 
thing  she  says.  I 've  knowed  Poll  Bingbam  from  a 
gal,  and  she  never  knowed  how  to  speak  the  truth — 
besides  she  always  had  a  pertikkeler  spite  against  hus- 
band and  me,  and  between  us  tew,  I  'II  tell  you  why 
if  you  won't  mention  it,  for  I  make  it  a  pint  never  to 
say  nothin'  to  injure  nobody.  "Well,  she  was  a  ravin- 
distracted  after  my  husband  herself,  but  it 's  a  long 
storj^,  I  '11  tell  you  about  it  some  other  time,  and  then 
you'll  know  why  widder  Jinkins  is  etarnally  runoin' 
me  down.  See— where  had  I  got  to  ?  0,  I  remem- 
ber now — 

Whiskey  and  rum  he  tasted  not — 

He  thought  it  was  a  sin — 
I  thought  so  much  o'  Deacon  Bedott 

I  never  got  married  agin. 


80 


W  1  D  0  V/   B  E  ])  0  T  T  PAPERS. 


But  now  he dead  !  the  thought  is  killin' 

Wy  grief  I  can't  control — 
He  never  left  a  single  shillin 

His  widder  to  console. 

But  tliat  woAi't  his  fault — he  Avas  so  out  o'  liealtb  Ion 
a  number  o'  year  afore  lie  died,  it  ain't  to  be  wondered 
at  lie  dident  lay  np  notbin' — however  it  dident  give 
him  no  great  oneasiness — lie  never  cared  much,  for 
a  irthly  riches,  though  Miss  Pendergrass  says  she  beard 
Miss  Jinkins  say  Deacon  Bedott  was  as  tight  as  the 
skin  on  bis  back — begrudged  folks  their  vittals  when 
they  came  to  his  house !  did  you  ever !  why  be  was 
the  hull-souldest  man  I  ever  see  in  all  my  born  days. 
If  I'd  such  a  husband  as  Bill  Jinkins  was  I'd  bold 
my  tongue  about  my  neighbors'  husbands.  He  was  a 
dretful  mean  man,  used  to  git  drunk  every  day  of  bis 
life — and  be  had  an  awful  high  temper — used  to 
swear  like  all  possest  when  be  got  mad — and  I 've 
beard  my  busband  say — (and  be  wa'n't  a  man  that 
ever  said  any  thing  that  wa'n't  true) — I 've  beard  him 
say  Bill  Jinkins  would  cheat  bis  own  father  out  of  his 
eye  teeth  if  be  bad  a  chance.  Where  was  I?  01 
"Ilis  widder  to  console" — ther  ain't  but  one  more 
verse,  't  ain't  a  very  leugthj^  poim.  "When  Parson 
Potter  read  it,  he  says  to  me,  says  he — "  Wliat  did 
you  stop  so  soon  for?"' — but  Miss  Jinkins  told  the 
Crosby's  she  thought  I 'd  better  a  stopt  afore  I 'd  begun 
— she 's  a  purty  critter  to  talk  so,  I  must  say.  I 'd 
like  to  see  some  poitry  o*  hern — I  guess  it  would  be 


THE   WIDOW   ESSAYS  POETRY. 


31 


astonisliin'  stuff;  and  mor  'n  all  that,  she  said  there 
wa'n't  a  word  o'  truth  in  the  hull  on 't — said  I  never 
cared  tuppence  for  the  deacon.  Vv^hat  an  everlastin' 
lie ! !  Why — when  he  died,  I  took  it  so  hard  I  went 
deranged,  and  took  on  so  lor  a  spell  they  was  afraid 
they  should  have  to  send  nie  to  a  Lunattic  Arsenal. 
But  that 's  a  painful  subject,  I  won't  dwell  on 't.  I 
conclude  as  follows : 

I  '11  never  change  my  single  lotr—  v 

I  think  't  would  be  a  sin — 
The  inconsolable  widder  o'  Deacon  Bedott, 

Don't  intend  to  get  married  agin. 

Excuse  my  cry  in' — my  feelins  always  overcomes  me 
so  when  J  say  that  poitry — O-o-o-o-o-o  I 


Ill 


^  ^  YES!  I  remember  I  promised  to  teli  you  tlie 
^  cause  o'  widder  Jinkinses  ennimosity  to  me — 
M  .lissy,  pass  tlie  bread — well,  you  see,  Deacon  Bedott 
(lie  wa'n't  deacon  tlien  tliougli)  be  come — belp  yerself 
to  butter,  dew — be  come  to  Wiggletown  to  teacb  tbe 
decstrict  scbool.  He  was  origginally  from  tbe  Black 
River  kentry.  His  fatber  was  a  forebanded  farmer, 
and  be 'd  give  Hezekier  a  complete  eddication — ^be 
tool  to  larnin'  naterally.  Is  your  tea  agreeable  ?  I 
s'poiii'i  tber  wa'n't  bis  equif  for  cypberin'  no  wber 
round.  Well,  Squire  Smitb  be  was  out  in  tbem  parts, 
and  be  got  acquainted  witb  Hezekier,  and  be  see  tbat 
be  wa3  an  oncommon  capable  youn^  man,  and  so  be 
condi\:ed  bii.ni  to  come  to  "Wiggletown  and  teacb  T^bool. 
Kier,  p's?  tbo  cbeeze  to  Miss  Higgins,  Don't  nevai- 
eat  cheevx: !  dew  tell !  wel",  Iv.isband  couldent  eat  cbeeze 
witbout  itnp"Uriity  duiin'  tbe  last  j^ears  of  bis  life — 
used  to  S£iy  that  it  lay  like  a  scun  on  bijs  stomick ; 
sure  as  be  eat  a  piece  o'  cbeeze  for  bis  supper,  be  'a 
lav  awake  grcanin'  all  nignt,  if  be  dident  take  soGie 


WIDOW   JENKINS'  ANIMOSITY. 


33 


kind  cf  an  antigote  to  pervent  it.  But  I  was  gwino 
to  tell — ^^Well,  the  day  after  lie  come  to  our  place, 
Squire  Smith's  folks  had  a  quiltin'  -l  was  there — 
't  wa'n't  long  afore  Sally  was  married  (she  'tis  Sam 
Pendergrasses  wife) — she  was  a  makiii'  her  quilts — 
though,  'twas  ginerally  thought  she  was  engaged  to 
.Mose  Hewlet.  and  as  to  that  matter,  it 's  my  opinion 
she  might  better  a  had  him  than  the  one  she  did  have. 
J  never  thought  Sam  Pendergrass  was  much—none 
(.»'  the  Pendergrasses  ain't  no  great  shakes,  though 
Le 's  good  enough  for  Sal  Smith.  Melissy,  why  don't 
you  sarve  out  the  sass  ?  That  sass  ain't  fust-rate — 
you  see,  while  't  vras  a  dewin'  Loviney  Skinner,  she 
come  in  with  that  are  subscription  paper,  to  git  up  a 
society  for  "  the  univarsal  diffusion  of  elevation  among 
the  colored  poperlation,"  and  while  I  Vvras  lookin'  at  it 
to  see  vv^ho 'd  signed  and  how  much  they  gi'n,  the  sass 
{{ot  overdid.  But  I  was  gwine  to  tell  about  that 
.'juiltin'.  I'lier  was  a  number  o'  young  folks  there — ■ 
see — there  was  Prissill}'  Poole  (that 's  me),  Poll  Bing- 
ham (Bill  Jinkinscs  widder),  Huddy  ILewlit  (she 
married  Nats  Farntash  and  both  on  'em  died  to  the 
westard  a  number  o'  years  ago),  and  Sally  Smith 
(Sam  Pendergrasses  wife),  and  the  Pcabodys  (Jeru- 
shy  married  Shadrack  Dany— but  Betsey  ain't  mar- 
T'cd  yet,  though  I  s'pose  if  ever  any  body  tried 
fliithfuliy  to  git  a  hu3ba]7i  Bets'  Peabody  has),  and 

NTab  Iliriksten   (she  'tis  Major  Coon's  wife  Jiow), 

2* 


84 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


though  then  she  wa'n't  nothin'  bat  a  milliner's  ap* 
printice.  I  remember,  I  wondered  at  the  Smiths  for 
invitin'  her,  but  thej  never  was  pertikkcler  who  they 
went  with,  and  she  always  had  a  wonderful  way  o' 
crowdin'  in.  See — you  heerd,  dident  you,  how 't  she 
said  I  tried  to  ketch  the  Major,  but  he  lookt  ruther 
higher  'n  to  marry  widder  Bedott  ?  He  must  a  lookt 
consarn-ed  high  when  he  took  Nab  Ilinksten  I  She 's 
a  purtj  critter  to  be  a  tryin'  to  disperse  my  character^ 
I  dew  say  I  I'  11  let  her  know  'fc  Deacon  Bedott's 
widder  ain't  a  gwine  to  be  put  down  by  the  like  o'  lier. 
What  was  she,  pray  tell,  in  her  young  days?  I  make 
it  a  pint  never  to  say  nothin'  against  nobody — ^bu^- 
truth  ain't  no  slander,  think  it  is  ?  and  all  creation 
knows  she  wa'n't  nobody.  "Why  her  father  was  a 
poor  drunken  shack  away  down  in  Bottletown,  and 
her  mother  took  in  washin',  and  Nab  Hinksten  herself 
worked  out  for  a  half  a  dollar  a  week,  till  Miss  Potter 
was  down  there  one  time  a  visitin'  Parson  Potter's  re- 
lations, and  she  took  pity  on  her  and  fetched  her  up 
to  Wiggletown  to  live  with  her ;  but  after  a  spell  she 
got  above  dewin'  housework  and  went  into  Miss  Dick- 
erson's  milliner  shop,  and  there  she  stayed  till  ZeD 
Hawkins  married  her,  and  after  he  died  o'  delirrcum 
trimmins,  she  sot  tew  to  ketch  somebody  else,  and  at 
last  she  draw'd  in  Major  Coon — he 'd  been  disnppintcd 
('t  ain't  for  me  to  say  who  disappintcd  him)  and  so 
he  dident  care  much  who  he  married    and  no-v  che's 


WirOW   JENKINS'   ANIMOSITY.  85 

Miss  Majcr  Coon  I  0,  dearj  me,  it 's  enougli  to  make 
a  body  sick  to  see  the  airs  slie  puts  on.  Did  you  see 
hej  come  nippin'  into  meetin'  last  Sabber  day  with 
that  are  great  long  ostridge  feather  in  her  bunnit,  and 
a  shawi  as  big  as  a  bed  kiver?  But  I  could  put  up 
v;it]i  her  if  she  wouldent  slander  her  betters.  She 
and  Miss  Jinkins  is  wonderful  intimit  now,  though  1 
remember  when  Poll  Bingham  hild  her  head  high 
enough  above  Nab  Hinksten,  at  that  quiltin'  she 
dident  scarcelj^  speak  to  her.  Is  your  cup  out?  Take 
some  more  bread — not  no  more?  why  you  don't  eat 
nothing — I 'm  afeard  you  won't  make  out  a  supper — 
well  dew  take  .a  piece  o'  the  sweetcake — I  ain't  sure 
about  it  bein'  good,  Melissy  made  it  and  she 's  apt  to 
git  in  a  leetle  tew  much  molasses — but  them  nutcakes 
/  know  is  good,  for  I  made  'em  myself,  and  I  dew 
think  I  make  nutcakes  about  as  good  as  any  body 
else.  Kier's  a  wonderful  favoryte  o'  nutcakes,  ain't 
you  Kier?  but  his  father  couldent  eat  'em  at  all  for 
a  number  o'  year  afbre  he  died — they  were  tew  rich 
for  his  stomick — -jest  as  sure  as  he  eat  a  nutcake  he 
used  to  have  a  sick  speD  afterward.  But  I  was  a 
gwine  to  tell  how  Poll  Bingham  conie  to  take  such  a 
B].'ite  against  me — well,  the  beginnin'  on 't  commenced 
at  that  are  quiltin'.  In  the  evenin'  you  see  the  young 
men  come.  There  was  Hezekier  Bedott — Zeb  Haw- 
kins (he 't  was  Miss  Coon's  fust  husband,  he  got  to  be 
ft  worthless  critter  afore  he  died),  and  Shubal  Greeu 


36  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

(he  was  a  wonderful  good  singer,  had  an  amazin 
powerful  voice,  used  to  sing  in  meetin'  and  nigh  aboui. 
raise  the  ruff  o'  the  meetin'-house  off),  and  Zophar 
Slocum — he  was  studjin'  to  be  a  doctor,  he  was  a 
smart  j^oung  man  but  dretful  humbly :  he  used  to 
write  the  poitrj  for  the  ""Wiggleton  Banner."  ITo 
got  dretfully  in  love  with  a  young  woman  once,  and 
she  dident  recipperate  his  feelins — 't  ain't  for  me  to 
tell  who  the  3^oung  woman  was.  I  don't  approve  o' 
tellin'  such  things — well,  he  got  into  such  a  takin'  on 
account  o'  her  coldness,  that  at  last  he  writ  her  a  letter 
tellin'  of  her  how 't  he  couldent  stan  such  undifference 
no  longer,  and  if  she  continood  to  use  him  so,  he  was 
determined  to  commit  self-suiside — at  the  end  o'  the 
letter,  he  put  in  a.  varse  d'  poitrj^ — it  says —  , 

O,  'tis  a  dretful  thing  to  be 
In  such  distress  and  misereo  ! 
I 'm  eny  most  a  natteral  fool 
All  on  account  o'  Silly  Poole  ! 

There !  I 've  let  on  who  'twas — hain't  I  ?  but  ue 
altered  his  mind  abeutkillin'  himself,  and  was  married 
about  three  months  after  to  Sophier  Jones.  Tate 
another  nut-cake — dew.  Why,  what  a  small  eater 
you  be  I  I'm  afeared  the  vittals  don't  suit  you. 
Well,  less  see  who  else  was  there.  0,  Tim  Crane. 
He  was  a  wonderful  safily  feller — dident  soirje'y 
know  enough  to  go  in  when  it  rained,  though  oe  Vv'as 
purty  sharp  at  makin'  money.  -JI@  married  TrypheuY 


WIDOW   JENKINS'  ANIMOSITY. 


87 


Kenipe,  Deacon  Kenipe's  sister — they  went  to  tlie 
westard,  and  IVe  lieered  they'd  got  to  be  quite  rich, 
r  guess  it  must  be  owin'  to  Miss  Crane's  scrapin' 
and  savin',  for  she  was  the  stingiest  of  all  created 
critters.  What  did  you  say,  Kier?  Jim  Crane 
corain'  back  here  to  live  ?    Well,  't  won't  be  no  great 

addition  to  Wiggletov/n,  for  they  ain't  What! 

Kier  Bedott  ?  Miss  Crane  dead  I  Land  o'  liberty  ! 
what  an  awfal  thing !  Dear  me  !  I  dew  feel  amazln' 
sorry  for  Mr.  Crane !  hovv^  onfortinate !  to  lose  his 
wife  I  such  a  nice  woman  as  she  was,  tew  !  What  did 
you  say,  Melissy  Bedott !  How 't  I  jest  called  Miss 
Crane  a  stingy  critter  ?  3^ou  must  a  misunderstood  me 
a  purpose  !  I  said  she  was  an  oncommon  equinomical 
woman.  I  alwajs  thought  a  master  sight  of  Miss 
Crane,  though  I  must  say  she  wa'n't  quite  good 
enough  for  such  a  man  as  Timothy  Crane.  lie 's  an 
amazin' fine  man.  I  said  he  dident  know  nothing? 
Kier  Bedott,  how  you  dew  mxisunderstand.  I  meant 
that  he  was  a  wonderful  unolfensive  man,  well-dis- 
posed toward  every  body.  Well,  I 'm  glad  Mr. 
Crane 's  a  comin'  back  here  ;  should  think  H  would  be 
melancholy  to  stay  there  after  buryin'  his  pardncr. 
Ilis  poor  motherless  darters,  tew  !  I  feel  for  tliem.  It  'a 
a  dretfal  thing  for  galls  to  be  left  without  a  mother  1 
Melissy,  what  b)  you  winkin'  to  Kier  for?  Don't  you 
know  it:'s  very  unpropor  to  Avink  ?  Kier,  did  Deacon 
Kenipe  say  what  comDlaint  Miss  Crane  died  of?  The 


88 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


eperdemic!  how  jou  talk!  that's  a  turrible  disease i 
I  remember  it  prevailed  in  our  place  when  I  was  quite 
joung — a  number  o'  individuals  died  on't  I  don't 
wonder  Mr.  Crane  wants  to  git  away  from  the  w^est- 
ard,  it  must  be  very  onpleasant  to  stay  to  a  place 
where  his  companion  was  tore  away  from  him  by  such 
an  aggravatin'  complaint  as  the  eperdemic.  Won't 
you  be  helped  to  nothing  more  ? — 0,  sure  enough — ] 
w^as  goin'  to  tell  how  Poll  Bingham  came  to  be  such 
an  inimy  o'  mine — now  I  should  n't  wonder  if  she 
should  set  tew  and  try  tew  ketch  Mr.  Crane  when  he 
comes  back,  should  you  ?  I  '11  bet  forty  great  apples 
she  '11  dew  it,  she 's  been  ravin'  distracted  to  git  married 
ever  since  she  was  a  widder,  but  I  ruther  guess  Timo- 
thy Crane  ain't  a  man  to  be  took  in  by  such  a  great 
fat,  humbljT",  slanderin'  old  butter  tub.  She 's  as  gray 
as  a  rat,  tew,  that  are  hair  o'  hern 's  false.  I 'm  gray 
tew.  I  guess  you  haint  told  no  new^s  now,  Melissy 
Bedott.  I  know  I'm  ruther  gray,  but  it's  owin'  to 
sickness  and  trouble.  I  had  n't  a  gray  hair  in  my  head 
when  yer  par  died.  -  I  ain't  as  old  as  widder  Jink  ins, 
by  a  number  o'  year.  I  thiiik  't  would  be  a  good 
idear  for  some  friendly  person  to  warn  Mr.  Crane 
aginst  Poll  Jinkins  as  soon  as  he  gits  here,  don't  j^cu? 
I  dew  feel  for  Mr,  Crane.  Kier,  I  wish  you 'd  invite 
him  to  step  in  when  you  see  him,  I  v/ant  to  convarse 
with  hrm,  I  feel  to  sympathize  with  him  in  I'lis  afllic* 
tive  disperisation.    I  know  what  'tis  to  lose  a  pardnc^r. 


I 


IV. 


■  ALK  in !  Why  Mr.  Crane  how  dew  you  dew  ? 


I'm  despot  glad  to  see  you — amazin'  glad, 
K.iei  told  me  you 'd  arriv'  several  days  ago,  and  I've 
bccD  suspcctin'  you  in  every  day  sence.  Take  a  cheer 
and  set  down — dew — "vVliy  Mr.  Crane,  you  hold  yei 
own  wonderfully,  don't  grow  old  a  speck  as  I  see. 
Think  I've  altered  much?  Don't,  hay?  Well,  Mr. 
Crau&,  we 've  both  on  us  had  trouble  enough  to  make 
us  look  old.  Excuse  my  cryin',  Mr.  Crane.  I've 
ben  dretfully  exercised  ever  sence  I  heerd  o'  your 
aflliction.  O!  Mr.  Crane!  what  poor  short-sighted 
critters  we  be !  can't  calkilate  with  any  degree  o'  sar- 
tmty  what 's  a  gwine  to  happen.  Par«:on  Potter  used 
to  say 'twas  well  we  didn't  know  the  futur,  cause 
t  would  have  an  attendency  to  onfit  us  for  dewin'  our 
duty ;  and  so  't  would — if  jom  and  I 'd  a  knowed 
ivhcn  you  went  away  fifteen  year  ago,  what  we 'd  got 
to  undergo,  't  would  a  nigh  about  killed  us,  would  n't 
it 4  01  Mr.  Crane!  Mr.  Crane!  Creation  has  dealt 
purty  hard  with  us  sence  we  parted!    Then,  you  had 


40 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


a  wife — an  uncommon  likely  woman  site  was  tew  — 
and  I  was  blest  witli  one  o'  tlie  best  o'  men  for  a 
husband — now,  I'm  a  widder,  and  you're  a  wid- 
dyiver.  But  our  loss  is  tlieir  gain — at  least  I 'm  sartin 
my  loss  is  Deacon  Bedott's  gain.  0 !  Mr.  Crane,  liow 
tbat  man  did  suffer  for  a  number  o'  year  afore  he  died ; 
but  he  was  the  resignedest  critter  I  ever  did  see — 
never  grumbled  a  grain.  Parson  Potter  used  to  say 
't  was  to  eddilication  to  come  to  see  him,  and  hear  him 
convarse.  He  felt  wonderful  bad  about  your  beiri' 
gone  to  the  estard,  Mr.  Crane.  Re  used  to  frequent- 
ly remark,  that  he 'd  giv  more  to  see  Llr.  Crane  than 
ary  individdyival  he  knowed  od.  He  sot  a  great  deal 
by  3^0 u — and  so  did  I  by  Miss  Crane.  We  botii  on 
us  felt  as  if  we  couldn't  bo  reconciled  to  your  liviu' 
away  off  there — it  seemed  as  if  we  could  n't  have  it  (jc 
no  way.  It's  a  dretful  pity  you  Avent  there,  Mr 
Crane.  Mabby  if  you  had  n't  a  went,  ycr  pardnei 
wouldn't  a  died — but  what's  did  '^.an't  be  ondid,  it's 
all  for  the  best.-^  I  was  turriblj^  overcome  when  1 
heerd  o'  her  death — fainted  away,  and  't  was  quite  a 
spell  afore  I  come  tew.  That's  a  bad  ciymit,  i  r 
Crane — it  must  be  a  bad  ciymit,  or  tne  eperdemic,  and 
fever  ager  would  n't  prevail  so  there.  A  few  year  alb." 
husband  died,  he  had  quite  a  notion  to  go  to  iiie  west- 
ard.  He  heerd  how  well  you  was  a  dewin' — and  iher 
there  was  Samson  Bedott,  his  cousin  (he  mairied  H^p' 
sy  Gifforel,  you  know),  /ze  went  some  where  to  tlie  west- 


MR.   CRANE   WALKS  IN. 


41 


arc! — and  after  lie 'd  ben  tliere  a  spell,  lie  Tvrit  my  lius- 
band  a  letter,  nrgin'  of  Mm  to  come  out  tLere,  lie  said 
to  be  sure  the  cljmit  was  rutlier  tr jin'  at  fast — but  then 
after  you 'd  got  used  to 't,  you 'd  be  ruggeder  'n  ever 
you  was  afore — and  it  "was  sucli  a  wonderful  kentry 
for  agricultifer  to  grow — -said 't  wa'n't  nigli  so  mount- 
anions  as  tlie  eastard — the  yomandery  didn't  liave  to 
labor  no  wlier  nigh  so  bard  as  what  tliey  did  bere — 
just  plant  your  perduce  and  that  was  tbe  eend  on 't — 
't  would  take  care  of  itself  till 't  was  time  to  git  it  in. 
Well,  husband  was  quite  fierce  to  go — and  if  it  had  n't 
a  ben  for  me,  he  icould  a  went,  but  I  would  n't  hear 
to 't  at  all.  I  says  to  him,  says  I,  '"T  wont  dew  for 
you  to  go  there,  no  how — Samson,  himself,  owns  it 's 
a  try  in'  clymit — and  if  it 's  tryin'  for  well  hearty  folks, 
how  do  you  'spose  you''d  stan'  it?  3'ou  enjoy  poor 
enough  health  here,  and  if  you  was  to  go  there  3'ou 'd 
enjoy  woss  yet,  what's  agricultifer  compared  to 
health  ?"  I  was  a  great  deal  more  consarned  for  hus- 
band than  what  I  was  for  myself,  Mr.  Crane — be  sure 
it 's  a  woman's  duty  to  feel  so,  but  seems  to  me  I  felt 
it  oncommonly.  And  no  wonder,  for  my  husband 
was  a  treshur.  0 !  Mr.  Crane,  when  I  lost  Jdm  I  lost 
all.  And  that 's  what  makes  me  feel  to  sympathize 
with  you  as  I  dew,  Mr.  Crane.  Our  sitty wations  are 
60  much  alike.  I  'spose  you  feel  as  if  your  loss 
could  n't  never  be  made  up  to  you,  don't  you  ?  T'i  at 's 
jest  how  I  felt.    Now  there 's  Major  Coon,  and  Mi 


42 


WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Giflbrd,  and  Sf[uire  Perce,  and  Cappen  Canoot,  and 
old  uncle  Dawson  (he's  old  but  lie's  quite  rich),  wliy, 
narj  one  o'  them  wouldn't  a  filled  Deacon  Bedott's 
place  to  me.  'T  ain't  for  me  to  say  they 've  all  wanted 
rae — alicrn — but  s'posen  they  should,  you  know. 
Whenever  my  friends  begin  to  talk  to  me  about 
changin'  my  condition,  I  always  tell  'em  it's  a  resk — 
and  so  'tis  Mr.  Crane — it 's  a  turrible  resk  to  take  a 
second  pardncr — without  its  an  individdyival  you 
know 'd  when  you  was  young — that  makes  a  difference 
— 't  ain't  so  resky  then.  But  after  all,  Mr.  Crane — it 's 
a  trjin' thing  to  be  without  a  companion — ain't  it? 
And  then  there 's  the  responsibilitude  and  bringing 
up  the  children — widders  complains  most  o'  that. 
But  there 's  a  wonderful  difference  in  folks  about  that. 
Now 't  wa'n't  no  gi^eat  chore  for  me  to  bring  up  my 
children.  Parson  Potter's  wife  fraquently  used  to 
say  (she  had  quite  a  large  family,  you  know),  she  used 
to  say  to  me,  "Miss  Bedott  I'd  giv  eny,  most  eny 
thing  if  I  had  such  a  faculty  for  managin'  children 
as  you 've  got,  and  for  dewdn'  as  well  by  'em  as  what 
you  do."  Ther  is  an  amazin'  difference  in  wimmin — • 
now  ther 's  the  widder  Jinkins — she  'twas  Poll  Bing- 
ham— see — you  knowd  Poll  Bingham  when  she  was 
a  gal,  did  n't  you  ?  Yery  nice  gal  did  you  say ! !  I 
Why  Mr.  Crane,  how  forgetful  your  memory  is !  But 
I  don't  know  as  she  was  so  much  woss  than  some  other 
gals  I 've  knowd.    A  body  can't  tell  what  sort  of  a 


MR.   CRANE   ^Y  A  L  K  S  IN. 


45 


xoman  a  gal  v:ill  make  afore  she's  married — thej 
don't  always  show  out,  you  know.  But  I  make  it  a 
pint  never  to  say  nothing  against  nobody — and  I  am 
sure  I  don't  wish  Miss  Jinkins  no  harm — for  all  she 's 
did  so  much  to  injure  me.  I  was  only  gwine  to  speak 
o'  her  way  o'  bringin'  up  her  children.  'Tis  astonish- 
in'  how  that  critter  has  managed  with  them  young 
ones !  She 's  the  miserablest  hand  I  ever  did  see  in 
all  my  born  days.  Why  them  little  plagues  was  in 
the  streets  from  mornin'  till  night — Bill  and  Sam  a 
swearin'  and  throwin'  stuns — and  Alviry  a  racin'  and 
rompin'  and  botherin'  the  neighbors.  They've  got 
bigger  now  and  ain't  quite  so  troublesome,  though 
they  're  bad  enough  yet — but  that  ain't  to  be  wondered 
at — for  Miss  Jinkins  has  so  much  gaddin'  to  dew  she 
hain't  no  time  to  tend  to  her  family.  But  if  that  was 
all  ther  was  against  her  'twould  n't  be  so  bad.  How- 
ever— I  don't  want  to  talk  about  her — truth  ain't  to 
be  spoken  at  all  times  you  know — but  I  will  say  I 
should  pity  any  decevl  man  that  got  her  for  a  wife — 
'specially  if  he  had  children.  Speakin'  o'  children — 
you  must  feel  Miss  Crane's  loss  dretfully  in  takin'  caro 
o'  yourn.  It 's  an  awful  task  for  a  man  to  manage 
gals,  Mr.  Crane — and  you 've  got  four  on  'em — 
Mirandy  and  Seliny  is  purty  well  growd  up — but  then 
them  tew  little  ones — see — what's  ther  names?  O, 
yes — Liddy  and  Sary  Ann.  What  purty  little  critters 
they  be  though     I  noticed  them  in  meetin'  a  Sabber- 


44 


WIDOW   B  E  D  O  T  T  PAPERS. 


day — 0  Mr.  Crane!  when  I  looked  at  tliem  poor  little 
darlin's — a  settia'  there  all  in  mournin' — and  thought 
about  their  motherless  sittjwation — I  felt  as  if  I 
sliould  a  bust  right  out  a,  cry  in' !  I  had  to  hold  my 
handkerchief  afore  my  lace.  0  Mr.  Crane !  I  dew 
feel  for  them  children !  It 's  so  onfortinate  to  be  left 
without  a  mother  !— jest  at  their  age  tew — when  they 
have  so  much  vivacitude  and  animosity,  and  need  a 
mother's  care  for  to  train  'em  rightl}^  0  Mr.  Crane  I 
it 's  turrible !  turrible !  What  would  Melissy  a  did  if 
it  had  a  ben  me  that  died  instid  of  her  par?  She 
wa'n't  but  ten  year  old,  just  about  the  age  o'  them 
little  cherubim s  o'  yourn.  My  husband  was  an  on- 
common  gifted  man — and  a  wonderful  kind  father — 
but  ho  would  n't  a  did  by  Melissy  as  I  have — he 
would  n't  a  knowed  how  to  expend  her  mind  and  de- 
vilup  her  understandin'  as  I  have— but  I 've  got  a 
natteral  tack.  Melissy 's  a  credit  to  me,  Mr.  Crane — 
tho'  it 's  me  that  says  so,  she 's  eny  most  as  good  a 
housekeeper  as  what  I  be,  but 't  ain't  for  me  to.  boast 
— I've  been  indefategable  in  train'  of  her.  I 'm  sorry 
she  hain't  to  hum  to-night — she  and  Kier 's  gone  to 
singin'  school.  Yes — it's  an  onfortinate  thing  foi 
gals  to  be  left  v/ithout  a  mother.  It  was  dretful  Miss 
Crane 's  bein'  took  away — so  sudding  tew — I  feel  so 
distrest  about  your  raoloncolly  sittywation  I  can'1 
scarcely  sleep  o'  nights.  I 've  jest  begun  a  piece  o 
poitry  describin'  you  feelins.   I  '11  read  you  what  I 've 


ME. 


CRANE   WALKS  IN. 


45 


got  writ  if  jou  ^re  a  mind  to  hear  it,  tho'  it  aiii't  onlj 
jest  begiin.    I  call  it — 

^TR.  crane's  lamentations  ON  THE   DEATH  OF  HIS 
COMPANION. 


Trjpheny  Crane  !  Tryplieny  Crane  I 
And  shan't  we  never  meet  no  more  ? 

My  buzzom  heaves  with  turrible  pain 
While  I  thy  ontimely  loss  deplore. 

I  nsed  to  fraquently  grumble  at  ray  fate 
And  be  afeerd  I  was  a  gwine  to  suffer  sorrer- 

But  since  you  died  my  trouble  is  so  ^reat 
I  hain't  got  no  occasion  for  to  borrer. 

The  birds  is  singin'  in  the  trees, 
The  flowers  is  hlowiiT  on  the  plain, 

Bu-  they  hain't  jjof  n'^  power  to  pleav^n* 
^^'ithout/nj  aear  Trypneiiy  Cra;»e. 

1  can't  BUDtnit  to 't  thoug!)  I  must, 

It  is  a  drelful  blow. 
My  heart  is  ready  fty-  t.->  bust  - 

I  sLali  give  ny  I  know. 

A,klti.on/h  aj(ion!^tedly  my  los3 

Is  my  dear  purdner's  gain, 
I  cau'i  bo  rfcc'wnciJed,  because 

I  've  lost  Trypheny  Crane, 


"When  I  git  all  writ  I'll  giv  it  to  you  if  jon  warn 
it.  I  calkilate  to  have  it  considerable  longer — I  al- 
ways aim  to  have  my  poims  long  enough  to  pay  folks 
for  the  trouble  o'  readin  of  'em.  "What !  must  you 
go?  "Well  dew  come  in  agin — come  often — I've  been 
quite  gratifiea  hearin  of  you  talk->— you 've  been  away 
Ro  long.    Now  dew  be  iieighborly — and  dew  tell  Mi 


46 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


randj  and  Seliny  to  come  and  see  Melissy — and  Lid- 
dj  and  Sary  Ann — dew  let  them  come  over.  I'm 
very  fond  o'  children — very  indeed — and  I  fee?!  so 
mucli  for  tliem  are  tew  dear  little  motherless  critters 
Well — ^good  night,  Mr.  Crane  I 


^OOD  evenin',  Betsy— (Air.  Crane^s  'Mielp.")— Is 


Mr.  Crane  to  hum?  Is  lie  in  tljc  kitclien  ?  in 
the  settin' room,  hey?  Ain't  very  well?  why  how 
you  talk  !  Well,  I  want  to  see  him  a  minnit,  Lut  I 
guess  I'll  jest  stejD  in  the  kitchin  fust  aiid  dry  my  feet. 
I 'd  no  idee  'twas  so  sloppy  or  I 'd  a  wore  my  over- 
shoes— seems  to  me  you're  got  yer  kitchen  lieated  up 
wonderful  hot — 0,  stewin  yer  punkin,  hey  ?  I 've 
been  makin  some  pies  to-day,  tew.  You  must  have  a 
purty  hard  time  here,  Betsy.  Mr.  Crane 's  a  fme  man, 
a  very  fine  man — a  very  fine  man,  indeed — but  'tain't 
as  if  he  had  a  wife — noiu  every  thing  comes  on  his 
Iielp,  you  see — the  gals  is  nice  gals — amazin'  nice  gals 
but  they  hain't  no  experience — never  had  no  care  you 
know — and  'tain't  natral  to  s'pose  they  could  take 
right  hold  and  dew,  as  soon  as  ther  mar  died.  But  it 
sems  ruther  hard  to  see  so  much  come  onto  a  young 
gal  like  you.  On  your  account  I  wish  Mr.  Crane  had 
a  \vife,  't  would  be  so  much  easier  for  you — that  is  if 
he  got  a  good  experienced  woman  o'  biziness — that 


48 


WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


had  brung  up  a  family  of  her  own — don't  you  think 
so  ? — Well,  my  feet's  got  purty  well  dry — I  guess  I'll 
step  into  the  settin'  room  and  see  Mr.  Crane — I've  got 
an  arrant  tew  him.  How  d'  you.  dew,  Mr.  Crane  ? 
I'm  dretful  sorry  to  hear  you  ain't  well,  I  wa'n't  a 
coniin'  in — but  Betsy  said  you  was  undisposed — and  I 
was  unwillin'  to  make  you  egspose  yerself  by  comin* 
to  the  door — so  I  thought  I 'd  jest  step  in  where  you  was 
— hope  I  don't  intrude — I  jest  ran  over  to  fetch  that 
are  poitry  I've  ben  writen  for  you — I  would  a  gin  it 
to  yer  darters — they  called  in  for  Melissy  to  go  to  sing- 
in'  school — but  I  was  afeard  they'd  lose  it  afore  they 
got  hum — young  gals  is  kerless,  you  know.  Here 
'tis — 'tain't  so  long  as  I  meant  to  have,  arter  all — only 
nine  and  forty  varses — but  I 've  had  company — sister 
Magwire  (she  'twas  Melissy  Poole,  you  know — my 
youngest  sister,  the  one  my  Melissy  was  named  arter) 
she's  ben  to  see  me,  and  stayed  a  week,  and  when  a 
body  has  company  it  kind  o'  flustrates  a  body's  idees, 
you  know.  And  then,  tew,  sister  Magwire  don't  take 
no  interest  in  no  such  thing.  She 's  a  very  clever  wo- 
man, Melissy  is,  but  she  ain't  a  bit  like  me — hain't  no 
genyus — no  more  hain't  sister  Harrinton — why  they 
don't  nary  one  on  'cm  take  no  more  sense  o'  poitry 
than  that  are  stove.  If  I  had  a  let  on  to  sister  Mag^- 
wire  what  I  was  a  writin',  she 'd  a  tried  to  stop  me — 
had  to  work  at  it  o'  nights  arter  she 'd  went  to  bed — 
and  that  s  the  reason  why  I  hain't  finished  it  iiforo. 


DISCOURSES   OF   PUMPKINS.  49 

Sister  Maojwire'a  a  smiirt  vroman,  te',v  in  her  way — but 
it  a  different  kind  o'  smart  from  mine.  I  think  lier 
bein'  married  to  sncli  a  man  has  exarted  an  onfav- 
orable  attendency  on  her.  Mr.  Magwire 's  a  stiddj, 
well-meanin*  man — and  has  got  along  amazin'  pros- 
perous in  the  workl — ^but  he  has  dretfal  curus  notions. 
Why,  when  I  writ  that  affectin'  allegory  to  the  memo- 
ry o'  my  husbani],  as  true  as  I  live,  Mr.  Crane,  broth- 
er Magwire  laffed  about  it  right  to  my  face ! — said 
'twas  enough  to  make  the  deacon  groan  under  grouad 
— did.  you  ever !  I  felt  dretful  hurt  about  \\  but  I 
never  laid  it  up  agin  him,  'cause  I  know'd  ho  dident 
knovr  no  better.  But  I  dew  feel  wonderful  consarned 
about  yer  health,  Mr.  Crane.  What  seems  to  be  the 
matter  ^vith  you  ?  Pain  in  yer  chist !  0 !  that 's  tur- 
rible  I — it  always  scares  me  to  death  to  hear  of  ary 
body's  bavin'  a  pain  in  ther  chist.  Why  chat  very 
♦.hing  was  the  begin nin'  o'  my  husband's  sickness,  that 
onally  terminated  in  his  expiration.  It  ought  to  be 
tended  tew  right  off,  Mr.  Crane,  rig]  it  off.  When 
husband  fust  had  it,  'twant  very  bad,  and  he  didtnt 
pay  no  tention  to 't — next  time  'twas  rother  woss,  a^'id 
I  wanted  him  to  send  for  the  doctor,  but  he  wouldent 
— ^he  was  always  amazinly  opposed  to  physicianpjy. 
Well,  the  next  time  he  was  attacked  'twas  dretful  bad 
—he  had  to  lay  by — still  all  I  could  dew  I  couldent 
conduce  him  to  have  a  doctor.    Well  it  went  on  m 

for  three  days.    I  done  all  I  could  for  him,  but  ifc 

3 


50  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


•iideiit  do  a  smite  o'  good — lie  kept  a  gittin'  woss  and 
woss,  and  the  third  day  he  was  so  distrest  it  did  seem  as 
?!  every  breath  he  draw'd  would  be  the  death  on  him. 
.'est  then  old  mother  Pike  come  in — she  was  quite  a 
doctor,  3^ou  know — and  she  said  he  must  take  skoke 
berries  and  rum  right  olf — thcr  wa'n't  nothin'  like  it 
for  pain  in  the  chist — she  always  kop  it  m  the  house 
— so  she  goes  right  hum  and  fetches  over  a  bottle  on't 
and  gin  husband  a  wine  glass  full.  She  said  he  must 
begin  with  a  purty  stiff  dose,  'cause  he 'd  let  it  run  on 
so  long — arterward  a  gret  spunful  night  and  momin* 
would  be  enough.  Well,  'tis  astonishin'  how  soon 
my  husband  experienced  relief.  Arter  that  he  always 
tock  it  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  I  dew  believe  it  allivated 
his  sufferings  wonderfully — jqs — I  hain't  a  doubt  b""!? 
;vhat  if  he  'n  a  icok  it  afore  his  disorder  was  seated,  thh: 
mv;n 'd  d.  been  alive  and  well  to  this  day.  r)Ut  what 
did  car.'fc  he  ondid — it's  no  use  cry  in'  for  spilt  milk, 
isr^w  Mi\  CranC;  I  dew  beseech  you,  cis  a  friend,  to 
j.'^ke  skoke  hemes  and  rum  afore  it 's  tew  late.  Tem- 
poJance  man,  hey  ?    So  be  I,  tew ;  and  you  don't 

'r>osf',  dew  you,  Mr.  Crane,  that  I 'd  advise  you  to  take 
any  ".Idng  that  would  intosticate  you  ?    I 'd  die  afore 

''a  dew  it.  I  think  tevv^  much  o'  my  repertation  and 
yooj'n  teW;  to  do  such  a  thing.  But  it  is  the  harmless- 
est  stuff  a  body  can  take.  You  see  the  skoke  berries 
ccuntcrects  the  alky  hall  in  the  rum,  and  annyiiates 
feu  its  intosticatln'  qualities.    We  jest  put  the  rum  on 


D  I  S  C  O  U  B  S  E  £    OF   P  T  M  P  K  I  N  S  '1 

to  make  it  keep.  You  know  skoke  berries  can't  be 
got  in  tke  winter  time,  so  if  yoM  vvant  to  pre.'^.arve 
'em  for  winters,  yon  've  got  to  put  some  sor^  o'  sperits 
tew  'em  so 's  tkey  won't  spyle.  So  don't  you  be  non--^ 
afeard  to  take  it,  Mr.  Crane.  I  '11  send  you  some 
wben  I  go  bum — I  always  keeps  it  on  band — and 
you  be  faithful  and  take  a  gTeai  spunful  nigbt  and 
mornin' — and  if  you  ain't  tbe  better  for 't  afore  long — 
then  I 'm  out  o' m}^  calkilation — that's  all.  You  must 
feel  yer  loss  oncommonly  wher:  you  ain't  weil,  ^Ir. 
Crane.  If  ever  a  departed  coi  ipanion 's  raisFcd — ■ 
seems  to  me  it  must  be  when  the  i^^acted  survivers 
sick — 'specially  if  its  a  widiwer  that's  lost  bis  wife. 
How  awful  lonesome  you  must  be  here  alone,  when 
the  children 's  in  bed  and  the  gals  has  gun  ofT — as  1 
s'pose  they  fraquently  dew  when  evenin'  comes  —and  I 
don't  blame  them  for  \  as  I  know  on — its  natural  for 
young  folks  to  like  to  go.  How  drefful  lonesome  you 
must  be.  Now  some  men  wouldent  mind  it  sc  muca 
— they 'd  go  abroad  and  divart  ther  minds — Xmi  you 
ain't  a  man  to  go  to  taverns  and  shops  and  such  likf. 
places  to  begwile  the  time — tjou  're  a  man  that 's  abc^ 
such  things,  Mr.  Crane — and  that 's  what  maices  it  so 
aggrevative  for  you  to  be  without  a  pardner.  I  went 
into  the  kitchen  to  dry  my  feet  as  I  came  in — and  0, 
Mr.  Crane  I  I  never  did  experience  such  moloncolly 
sensations  in  my  life  as  I  did  vrhen  I  see  how  things 
went  CD  there — 'twas  plain  to  be  seen  ther  want  no 


52 


WIDOW  D  0  T  T  P  .  -  E  K  S . 


head  in  the  kitclienaiy  departmcra  -  vlA  wben  'tain't 
well  managed  there — T  tell  you  what,  Mr.  Crane — 
't  7Tont  bo  long  afore  it  '11  be  out  o'  kilter  every  where. 
-^OAv  Betse}^  Pringle's  a  clever  enough  gal  fur  as  I 
kaow — but  she 's  young  and  onstiddy,  and  wants 
lookin'  tew  every  minnit.  She  lived  to  Sam  Pender- 
p'asses  a  sjiell — and  Miss  Pendergrass  told  me  how't 
Betsey  cvmld  dew — ^but  she  wanted  somebody  to  her 
lieels  t'  overlook  her  all  the  time — she  was  such  a 
kerless  critter — said  she  couldent  git  along  with  her 
no  way.  Kow  if  Sam  Pendergrasses  wife  couldent 
Stan'  it  with  Betcey,  it 's  a  mystery  to  me  how  tew 
yo"j.iig  gais  like  j'ourn  is  a  gwine  to  git  along  with  her. 
They  hain't  never  had  no  care,  and 't  ain't  to  be  suspect- 
ed they  ehovJd  know  how  to  manage — 't  would  be 
OL'jel  to  require  it  on  'em.  It  needs  an  experienced 
woman—and  o"  e  that  takes  an  interest  in  things,  to 
keep  house  right.  Ther  was  one  thing  hurt  my  feel- 
•;;jr,  iimazinly  when  I  was  in  the  kitchen — Betsey  was 
stcvn.ii'  punkins  for  pies — I  knowd  in  a  minnit  by 
tlio  smell,  that  the  critter  was  a  burnin  on't  up.  1 
a. dent  say  nothin — thought  mabby  she 'd  be  put  out 
il  L  did.  cause  I  ain't  mistress  here — ^but  I  couldent 
:  oercely  hold  in.  I  '11  be  bound,  Mr.  Crane,  you  won't 
have  a  punkin  pie  fit  t'  eat  all  winter  long — and  it 
makes  me  feel  bad  to  think  on 't — for  I  make  gret  ac- 
count o'  punkins  in  winter  time — don't  you  ?  Speak* - 
in  o' .  punkins  reminds  me  of  a  trick  Miss  Jinkins 


DISCOtJPSES  OF  PUMPKIITS. 


63 


sarvecl  me  once  (slie 't    a?  Foil  Bingliam) — never  see 
a  punkin  without  thinkin'  on 't — and  its  tew  good  to 
keep — thongli  I  don't  want  to  say  notliin'  to  injure 
Miss  Jinkins.    'T  was  tew  year  ago  tliis  fall — some- 
how or  other  onr  pnnkins  dident  dew  well  that  year. 
Kier  said  he  dident  know  whether  the  seed  was  poor 
or  what  'twas — any  how,  our  punkins  dident  come  to 
nothin'  at  all — ^had  to  make  all  my  punkin  pies  out  o' 
squashes — and  them  ain't  no  wher  nigh  as  good  as  pun- 
kins.    TVell,  one  day  T  see  Sam  and  Bill  Jinkins  go 
by  with  a  load  o'  punkins — so  I  says  to  Mellissy,  say£ 
I,    I  mean  to  jest  run  over  and  see  if  Miss  Jinkins 
won't  let  me  have  one  o'  her  punkins," — the  sight  on 
'em  fairly  makes  my  mouth  water.    So  I  throws  on 
my  shawl  and  goes  oyer — though  I  very  seldom  axed 
any  favors  o'  her — notwithstandin'  she  was  etarnall}^ 
borrerin'  o'  me — why  ther  want  scarcely  a  day  pas* 
but  what  she  sent  to  borrer  somethin  or  other — a  loaf 
o'  bread — or  a  drawin'  o'  tea — or  a  little  molasses  oi  ; 
iittie  sugar,  or  what  not — and  what 's  more — she  wa'n  t 
\>  onderfal  pertickler  about  pay  in' — and  it 's  a  sollen 
fact — the  times  that  critter  Las  had  my  bake  pans  anc 
my  fiats  and  my  wash  board,  ain't  to  be  numbered.  \ 
make  it  a  pint  never  to  borrer  when  I  can  help  i 
Ther  is  times  to  be  sure — when  the  best  o'  housekeep- 
ers is  put  to 't  and  obleged  to  ax  favors  c'  ther  naborL- 
-  -but  as  for  borrerin'  every  day — week  in  and  week 
out,  as  the  widder  Jinkins  does — ^ther  ain't  no  need 


54 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


on  t — ^but  s"he  can't  stay  to  hum  io:ig  enougli  to  keep 
things  in  any  kind  o'  decent  order.  But  I  was  gwine 
to  tell  how  she  sarved  me  about  the  punkin.  TTell — 
I  goes  over — and  I  says,  says  I,  '*  Miss  Jinkins,  I  see 
you  're  a  gittin'  in  ycr  punkins — and  I  want  to  know 
whether  or  no  you  can't  spare  me  one — ourn's  failed, 
you  know."'  "  Well,"  says  she,  "  we  hain't  got  more 
'n  enough  for  our  own  use — ^but  seein'  it's  you,  I  guess  I 
will  let  you  have  one."  So  she  vrent  and  fetched  in 
one — -quite  a  small  one 't  was.  "  What 's  the  price  on 't 
says  I  (I  dident  s'pose  she 'd  tak  any  thing,  for  I 'd  gin 
her  a  mess  o'  turnips  a  few  day .3  afoie — but  I  thought 
I'd  offer  to  pay).  "  What 's  the  price  on 't  ?''  says  I. 
'■'  0  nothin'  at  all,"  says  she.  "  Lawful  sakes  !"  says  I, 
"  you  don't  s'pose  I  want  to  heg  it,  dew  you  ?  I  meant 
to  pay  the  money  down."  "  You 'd  look  well,"  says 
she,  "  a  payin'  for 't — don't  you  B'pose  I  can  afford  to 
giv  away  a  punkin? — ^purty  story  if  I  can't T' 
"  Well,"  says  I,  thank  you  a  thousand  times-  -you 
must  come  in  to-morrer  arter  I  git  my  pies  made  and 
help  eat  some."  "  Well,  mabby  I  will."  G£.y?  she — so 
I  takes  my  punkin  and  goes  hum  mighty  pleased. 
Well,  next  day  Melissy  and  me  we  cut  up  the  punkin 
— 'twas  dretful  small  and  wonderful  thin — and  when 
I  come  to  stew  it — my  gracious  I  how  it  did  stew 
ftWay !  The  fact  is  'twas  a  miserable  poor  punkin — 
good  punkins  don't  stew  down  to  nothin'  so.  Milessy 
she  lookt  into  the  pot  and  gays  she  to  me,  says  she. 


DISCOURSES   OF  PUMPKINS. 


55 


"Granf'tlier  grievous!  why  mar  I'm  afeard  tins  ere 
pimkin's  gwine  to  exasj)erate  intirely,  so  tber  won't  be 
uun  left  on't."  "Well  stivc  eiiougli — arter  'twas  sifted 
— as  true  as  the  worLl,  Mr.  Crane — tber  want  more'n 
a  pint  on't.  "  Why,  mdr,"  Llilc-fsy,  says  she — " 't  v^'ont 
make  more'xi  one  good  sized  pie."  '-Never  you  fear," 
says  I — "  I  dl  bet  forty  gret  apples  I  '11  git  three  pies 
out  on 't  any  way."  Some  folks,  you  know,  puts 
eggs  in  punkiii  pics,  but  accordin'  to  my  way  o'  think- 
in,  tain't  no  addition.  When  I  have  plenty  o'  punkin 
T  never  use  'em — but  !Miss  Jinkinses  punkin  turned 
out  so  small,  I  see  I  shouldent  have  nun  to  ij^ok  on 
without  I  put  in  eggs ;  so  I  takes  my  punkin  and  I 
stirs  in  my  molasses,  and  my  milk,  and  my  eggs,  and 
my  spices,  and  I  fills  three  of  my  biggest  pie-pana. 
" There,"  says  I  to  Meliss}',  "did n't  I  say  I'd  make 
three  pies,  and  hain't  I  did  it?"  "Yes,"  says  she, 
**but  they're  purty  much  all  ingrejienccs,  and  precioui' 
little  punkin."  Well,  we  got  'eip.  in  the  oven,  an:I 
jest  as  I  was  gwine  to  put  in  the  list/  one.  somebody 
knockt  at  the  door.  Melissy  was  a  haadin'  on  H  to  int., 
and  she  was  ruther  startled,  3'ou  know,  Vvn/x*  ^-'he 
heerd  the  knock,  and  she  jerked  away  quito  ^nd  'dng^ 
and  spilt  about  half  the  pie  out.  I  v/ipf-d  u  u:, 
quick  as  I  could,  and  Melissy  she  opened  the  e.oc:-, 
and  lo  and  behold  !  v/ho  sliould  come  in  but  the  wid- 
der  Jinkins  !  Artcr  she'd  sot  a  spell  she  says,  sayfi 
she,  "  Well,  Miss  Bedott,  how  did  j^ou  rnalcc  out  wit!' 


56 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


yer  pies  ?"      0,  very  well,"  says  I.    ^'  Td  jest  got 
in  tlie  oven  when  you  come  in."    I  thought,  seein*  she 
gm  me  the  punkin,  I  wouldent  say  nothin'  about  its 
bein'  such  a  miserable  one.    Mustent  find  fault  in  a 
gift  hosses  mouth,  you  know.    Well,  when  my  pies 
was  done  I  takes  'em  and  sets  en?.  02 •.  the  table. — 
"  Them  holes  nice,"  says  the  widder,  say^  she.    "  Thej 
he  nice,"  says  I.    I  knowed  the^-  was  i-ice,  tor  they 
had  every  thing  in  'em  to  make  'em  nice.    So  I  took 
the  thin  one  that  Melissy  spilt  over,  and  sot  it  m  the 
bucn  >  winder  to  cool,  so  'sto  give  Miss  Jinkins  a  piece. 
I  'joo'^that  cause  I  knowd  'twould  cool  sooner'H  t' 
othars,  on  account  of  its  bein'  thinner.    Well,  when 
my  pie  was  cool,  I  fetch t  it  Out  and  sot  it  afore  Miss 
Jii.kins,  and  I  gin  her  a  knife  and  a  fork,  and  says  I, 
"  Now  help  yerself,  Miss  Jinkins,"  and  I  tell  yon.  the 
MT.j  she  helpt  herself  was  a  caution.    Melissy  iookt 
if  she  was  ready  to  burst  out  laffin  ;  I  was  raly 
afeard  she  would.    Arter  she 'd  put  in  about  half 
pie,  fc'hc  laid  ''..wi'  her  knife  and  fork,  and  says  bhe, 
Til's  ere  ]  ]«;  -oji't  cool  enough  yet  accordin'  to  my 
waj'  of  tbinJiin' — I  never  did  fancy  warm  punkin  pies," 
So  r.iio  nz  uf; «  go.    "  O  don't  go,  Miss  Jinkins,"  says 
I.  "  d*-.v  .'Hit  a  spell  and  I'll  set  it  out  door — it  '11  cool 
there  m  a  few  miimits — you  gin  me  the  punkin  and  I 
i^ant  you  should  have  yer  share  o'  the  pie."  Mercy 
on  us!''  says  she,  "I  liope  3'ou  don't  spose  I  consider 
a  punkin  such  a  mighty  gret  gift — I  was  very  glad  oJ 


DISCO  UESES   OF   PUMPKINS.  57 

a  clionce  t'  obleege  you — but  it 's  time  I  was  hum — I 
guess  I  won't  mind  about  eaten  any  more  o'  tbat  tbere 
|:  ;.e — I  never  did  fancy  thin  punkin  pies — these  ere  teiu  HI 
he  as  much  as  I  luant^  And  jest  as  true  as  I  live 
and  breathe,  the  critter  actilly  took  tliem  tew  pies  and 
sot  'em  crossways — one  a  top  o'  totber  and  marched 
off  with  'em !  When  she  got  to  the  door  she  turned 
round;  and  says  she — "  Now  Miss  Bedott,  whenever 
you  want  any  little  favor,  such  as  a  punkin  or  any 
thing  else  I've  got  that  you  hain't  got — don't  scruple 
to  ask  for 't — it  always  affords  me  the  greatest  gratifica- 
tion to  dew  a  nabor  a  kindness."  Arter  she 'd  gone,  I 
iookt  at  Melissy  and  Melissy  lookt  at  me  in  a  perfect 
state  o'  dumfounderment  I  v/e  was  so  bethunderstruck, 
't  was  as  much  as  five  minnits  I  guess  afore  ary  one  of 
as  spoke  a  word.  At  last  says  Melissy  says  she, 
'Did  you  ever!"  ''No,  never!  never!"  says  I,  and 
then  we  sot  up  such  a  tremendous  laff  that  Kier  heerd 
us  (he  was  to  work  out  door),  and  he  came  in  to  see 
what  was  the  matter,  so  I  told  him — and  good  gra- 
cious how  he  did  roar  I  I  tell  you,  he  hain't  never  let 
me  hear  the  last  o'  that  punkin — I  don't  know  to  this 
day  whether  Miss  Jinkins  knowd  I  stewed  up  the  hull 
o'  the  punkin  to  once  or  not — but  I  dew  raly  bleve  if 
she  had  a  knowd  it,  't  wc  uldent  a  made  a  speck  o'  dif- 
ference about  her  taken  the  pies,  for  she  was  always 
the  very  squintessence  o'  meanness.  Land  o'  liberty ! 
lis  nine  o'clock — I 'd  ought  to  ben  hum  an  hour  ago 

3* 


58  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


"Now,  Mr.  Crane,  I  dew  hope  you  '11  take  care  o'  yerseli 
in  season,  and  take  mj  medicine — ^I'll  send  Kier  over 
with  it  as  soon  as  I  get  hum — ana  mind  you  take  a 
gret  spunful  night  and  mornin'  as  long  as  you  have 
any  pain  in  yer  chist — ^^it 's  a  wonderful  help  to 't.  And 
dew  be  kerful  about  egsposin  yerself  to  the  cold  air — 
don't  go  out  without  rappin'  up  warm — remember  the 
equinoxical  storms  is  a  comin'  on  soon,  and  them's 
dretful  had  for  invalidders.  O  Mr.  Crane,  't  would  be 
an  awful  thing  if  you  should  be  took  away !  I  can't 
bear  to  think  on't — excuse  my  cryin',  Mr.  Crane — I 
can't  help  it — I  dew  feel  such  an  interest  in  yer  family 
and — I  hope  you  wont  think  I'm  forrard,  Mr.  Crane 
— but  I  dew — I  dew — I  dew — set  a  great  deal — by 
you,  Mr.  Crane. 


VI. 


^/fELISSY!    Melissy!    Melissj  Bedott!  Why, 


wliat  on  arth.  's  come  o'  the  critter !  I'm  sure 
she  went  np  chamber  a  spell  ago,  to  fix  up,  and  I 
ain't  seen  her  come  down  sence.  You  set  down, 
gals,  and  I'U  jest  run  up  and  see  'f  she 's  there.  Why, 
Melissy,  what  in  natur  do  you  mean  by  keepin'  me  a 
yellin'  all  night  ?  Did  anser,  hey  ?  well,  you 'd  ought 
to  leave  yer  door  open  so's  a  body  could  hear  you, 
and  not  be  obleeged  to  trot  way  up  here  arter  you. 
Come  down,  right  off.  Seliny,  and  Mirandy  Crane's 
down  stairs — they  want  you  to  go  to  the  Phreenyogi- 
cal  lectur  with  'em.  Ther  par 's  a  gwine,  but  he 's 
bizzy  and  ain't  ready  yit,  and  he  told  'em  not  to  wait 
for  him,  'cause  it  might  be  late  afore  he  could  git 
away.  So  they  come  arter  us,  'cause  they  dident  like 
to  go  alone.  Me  gwine  ?  Why  yes,  to  be  sure — why 
shouldent  I  ?  I  never  heerd  a  phreenyogical  lectur, 
and  I 've  got  considerable  curosty  to  see  what  'tis. 
I  '11  go  put  on  my  things.  Melissy  '11  be  down  in  a 
miDit.    She  insists  on 't  I  shall  go,  tew,  and  I  guess  J 


60 


WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


will — I  always  thoiiglit  I  should  like  to  hear  one  o' 
them  kind  o'  lecturs.  (They  enter  the  lecture  room.) 
Less  go  back  side,  as  fur  away  from  the  stove  as  we 
can  git,  it 's  so  awful  hot  here.  What !  you  afeard  o' 
the  men  folks,  Mirandy  ?  I  don't  care  if  'tis  riglit 
amongst  the  loafers  and  boys.  I  never  see  that  man 
yitj  nor  boy  nother,  't  I  was  afeard  on.  Gracious 
sakes  alive !  dew  look  o'  them  dead  folkses  heads  on 
the  table!  What  awful  looking  things  they  be! 
Made  o'  plaster,  hey  ?  Well,  I 'm  glad  on 't — shan't 
feel  so  dizgusted  lookin'  at  'em  as  I  should  if  they 
was  rael  heads.  What  a  curus  lookin'  critter  that 
lecturer  is,  ain't  he  ?  How  he  has  got  his  hair  all 
scraped  up !  makes  him  look  kind  o'  skairt.  Name 's 
Mr.  Yanderbump,  ain't  it?  Wonder  if  that  are  wo- 
man without  a  bunnit  on 's  Miss  Vanderbump  ?  What 
an  awful  big  head  she 's  got !  Her  forrid 's  all  bare, 
tew — how  it  sticks  out!  Sigii  of  intellect?  Goodj- 
grievous !  I  wouldent  care  for  that.  If  I  had  such  a 
humbly  face  I 'd  keep  it  kivered  up,  wouldent  you  ? 
Dew  see !  there  comes  Sam  Pendergrasses  wife,  with 
that  everlastin'  boy  o'  hern.  She  takes  that  young 
one  every  where — and  he  always  acts  like  Sanko.  I 
guess  she  '11  find  it  purty  warm  there,  right  aside  o' 
the  stove.  Look,  Seliny  !  there 's  Cappen  Canoot — 
I  '11  bet  a  cookey  he  called  for  me.  Well,  I 'm  glad  I 'd 
come  away  afore  he 'd  got  there.  I  don't  want  none 
o'  his  company.    I  don't  know  what  he  expects  to 


THE   WIDOW   LOSES   HER  BEAU. 


61 


gain  bj  stickin'  rouiid  me  so»  I  hain't  never  gin  him 
no  incurridgemept,  and  don't  intend  tew.  Of  all 
things !  if  there  ain't  Major  Coons  wife,  with  that 
flambergasted  old  red  hood  o'  hern  on!  Dew,  for 
pity's  sake,  see  how  ihe  sails  along.  And  then,  tlicre 
comes  the  Major  grinin'  along  behind  her,  as  It'  she 
luas  the  eend  o'  the  law.  I  s'pose  if  ever  a  man  was 
completely  under  his  wife's  thumb,  ISIajor  Goon  i^. 
But  they  say  he  thinks  she 's  clear  perfection ;  well, 
it 's  well  ther 's  soraebody  thinks  so.  Kier  was  tell  in*  a 
speech  old  Green  made  about  her  t'  other  day.  Old 
Green's  a  musical  old  critter,  you  know ;  well,  he  was 
in  Smith's  store,  and  Kier  was  there,  and  Major  Coon, 
and  a  number  of  other  men.  The  Major  v/asatalkin' 
about  his  wife — yo\x  know  how  he 's  forever  talkin' 
about  her — well,  lie  was  a  praisin'  on  her  up,  tellin' 
how  smart,  and  keen,  and  industrous  she  was,  and  all 
that.  Byme  by  he  went  out,  and  says  old  Green,  says 
he,  "  The  Major  does  think  his  wife 's  the  very  dyvil^ 
and  so  do  ij  to."  Old  Green 'd  no  bizness  to  said  it, 
but  when  Kier  told  on 't,  I  couldent  help  laffin'.  Well 
done  !  K  there  ain't  the  widder  Jinkins !  I  wonder 
if  ever  any  thing  goes  on  in  "Wiggletown  without  that 
woman's  bem'  on  the  spot !  I  never  did  see  any  body 
so  beset  to  go  as  she  is.  If  1  was  her  I  would  stay  to 
hum  jest  once^  so 's  to  see  how 't  would  seem — would- 
ent  you  ? 

There  I  Mr.  Yanderbump  is  agwine  to  begin  I  (T'he 


62 


"WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS 


lecturer  expatiates  on  the  won Jeiful  science  of  Plire 
nology-  -gives  a  liistory  cf  the  various  specimens — 
points  out  the  organ?^  etc.,  etc.,  and  just  as  he  concludes 
this  part  of  the  performance,  Mr.  Crane  enters.)  Se- 
lin  J — I  dewht'g'm  to  feel  ruther  timmorsome  settin'  here 
with  all  them  rowdies  behind  us — don't  you?  If  we 
had  a  gentleman  with  us  I  shouldent  feel  oneasy, 
sh.ould  you  ?  Ain't  that  3^er  par  over  yonder  ? — s'pose 
you  g-o  ax  him  to  come  and  set  here  long  with  us — 1 
should  loel  safer — [Selina  goes  and  returns  with  her 
father,  who  sits  down  beside  the  widow.]  Good  eve- 
ning Mr.  Crane !  I  hope  you.  won't  take  it  amiss,  my 
tiendin'  for  you  to  come  and  set  over  here,  for  I  r;  iy 
feit  V3  if  I  Giiould  fly  away,  with  all  those  ere  loafers 
right  behind  us — was  afeard  they 'd  say  something 
sassy  tew  us.  And  then,  tew,  I  was  expectin  every 
minit  vrhen  old  Canoot  would  be  makin'  a  dive  for 
this  quarter — and  I  know'd  he  would  n't  if  he  see  you 
here.  O,  Mr.  Crane,  you  can't  imagiae  how  I  dew 
drcd  that  critter.  I  couldent  bear  the  idee  a'  havin' 
on  him  go  hum  with  me  to-night — don't  want  t'  incur- 
ridge  him.  How  do  you  feel  this  evenin',  Mr.  Crane  ? 
better  'n  you  did,  hey  ?  well,  I  dew  feel  thankfal  for 't. 
Took  them  skoke  berries  and  rum,  did  you  ?  "Well, 
that  's  what  helped  you,  depend  on 't — ^but  you 
mustent  git  slack  about  takin'  on't — stick  tew  it  faith 
fully.  Iladent  you  better  take  yer  comforter  oif 
ver  neck  till  you  go  out  ?  you  won't  be  so  lik.elj^ 


THE    WID?vV   LOSES   HER  BEAU. 


68 


to  ketch  cold.    You  ' ve  got  to  be  keifai — very  kerful, 
Mr.  Crane — jom  need  somebody  to  see  tew  you  all  the 
time  and  malce  you  kerful,  tlie  gals  is  young  and 
thoughtless,  and  don't  think  on 't — huz  that  ain'  sur- 
prisin'.    I 'm  sorry  you  wa'n'fc  here  sooner,  Mr.  Crane. 
This  'ere  phreenyology 's  the  curusest  thing  I  ever 
did  see.    Did  you  ever  see  any  thing  to  beat  it — aow 
he  can  tell  an  individiwal's  character  so  egzacrly  by 
the  looks  o' their  heads?  don  t  seoDi  to  me  as  if  it 
could  be  so — does  it  to  you  ?    I  can't  raelize  i 've  got 
such  a  numerous  number  of  orgar.s  in  my  >  ena— cai. 
you? — G,  Mr.  Crane;  what  a  musical  itjan  you  be  I 
you     make  me  die  a  laffin!  Selinj  1  jest  hear  what 
your  par  says.    I  axed  him  if  he  could  raclizr-  Le  ha:l 
so  many  organs  in  his  head — and  lie  f^aid  how  'i 
t'  other  day  when  he  had  such  a  turrihic  cold  in  it,  it 
seemed  is  if  there  was  organs,  and  fiddles,  and  dnims. 
and  everything  else  in't — did  you  ever? — I  wisr- 
you 'd  a  ben  here  sooner,  Mr.  Crane,  to  hear  Mr.  Van- 
derbump's  exparigate  about  them  heads — he  gin  a  de 
scription  of  the  people  they  belonged  tew — and  tolc 
how  ther  characters  was   accordin'  to  ther  heads 
That  are  big  head — the  one  that  runs  up  t-^  cuch  e 
peak  on  top — he  says  that 's  Scott  the  celebi'ated  fM- 
thor — I  s'pose  it 's  the  one  that  writ  "  Scott  g  Corc- 
montaries  "  on  the  Scripters.    He  says  it 's  a  wonder 
ful  intillectible  head:  no  doubt  on 'i  — husbard  net  * 
gret  deal  by  his  Commontaries — used  to  '  orrer  *C7U  c 


64 


WIDOW   B  E  D  O  T  T    P  4  P     i  :  S . 


parson  Potter — Mr.  Scott  must  a'  ben  a  smar»  m  to 
write  'em.  That  are  sroall  ciirus  sliaped  one  on  the 
corner — iliat 's  the  head  of  an  underwitted  critter  that 
died  in  one  o'  the  poor  houses — hain't  got  no  intellec- 
tible  organs  at  alL  That  are  skull  that  sets  behind 
Mr.  Scott — that 's  Old  Gibbs  the  pyrit,  that  was  exte- 
cuted  a  number  o'  years  ago — ^lie  was  a  turrible  old 
viliing.  ]^.fr.  A^anderbump  said  that  was  old  Gibb's 
skull  positively  Ion?/  fidy.  That  is — ^it 's  giniwine 
bones — the  rest  on  'em's  made  o'  plaster.  But  that 
are  head  that  sets  aside  o'  the  commentater — the  one 
that 's  got  such  a  danglin'  under  lip  and  flat  forrid  ard 
runs  out  to  bucIi  a  pint  behind — that 's  old  mother 
O'Killera,  the  Irish  woman  that  murdered  so  many 
folks — she  was  an  awful  critter.  He  said 't  wa'n't  to 
be  disputed  thoagh,  that  she 'd  done  a  master  sight  o' 
good  to  menkind — ho  reckoned  they  ought  to  raise  a 
moniment  tew  her — 'cause  any  body  that  lookt  at  her 
head  couldent  pereume  no  longer  to  doubt  the  truth  o' 
phreenyology.  He  told  us  to  obsarve  the  shape  on 't 
perticlerly.  You  see  the  forrid 's  dretful  flat — well, 
that  shows  how 't  the  intellectible  faculties  is  intireJy 
wantin'.  But  he  dident  call  it  forrid.  He  called  it  the 
hoss  frontis.  I  s'pose  that 's  'cause  its  shaped  more 
like  a  boss  than  a  human  critter — animal  propensi- 
tudes  intirely  predominates,  you  know.  That 's  what 
makcr>  it  stick  out  so  on  the  back  side — that's  the 
hoca  hindis  I  s'poso — hoss  frcntis  and  hoes  liindis^  you 


THE  WIDOW   LOSES  HER  BEAU.  65 

know.  I  felt  oncomonly  interested  when  he  was  a 
tellin'  about  her,  'cau. I 've  read  all  about  her  in 
"Horrid  Murders" — a  book  I've  got — ^it the  inter- 
estinest  book  I 've  read  in  all  my  life.  It 's  enough  to 
make  yer  hair  stand  on  eend.  I've  ben  over  it  I 
guess  half  a  dozen  times — and  it  seems  interestiner 
every  time.  Husband  got  it  of  a  pedlar  the  year  afore 
he  died,  and  he  used  to  take  an  amazin'  deal  o'  com- 
fort readin'  on 't.  Time  and  agin  I 've  knowd  that 
man  to  lie  awake  half  the  night  arter  he 'd  ben  readin' 
in  "  Horrid  Murders."  He  was  narvous,  you  knovv' — 
I  feel  wonderfnll}^  attached  to  that  book  'cause 't  was 
Buch  a  favorite  o'  husband's.  Every  thing 't  was  dear 
to  husband  is  dear  to  mo — Mr.  Crane — that 's  one  rea- 
son why  I  set  store  by  you — he  reckoned  on  you  so 
much.  I  '11  lend  you  that  book  Mr.  Crane — ^you  '11  be 
delighted  with  it.  You  can  jest  step  in  with  me  when 
we  go  hum  and  I  '11  let  you  take  it.  You  '11  hQ 
amaziuly  pleased  with  the  account  o'  Miss  O'Killem. 
She  murdered  five  husbands  and  a  number  of  other  in- 
dividiwals,  and  it  tells  all  how  she  killed  each  one  on 
'em.  Some  she  cut  ther  throats  and  some  she  burnt, 
and  some  she  chopped  to  pieces.  0  'tis  awfal  interest- 
in'.  ^Yhat  did  you  say,  Mr.  Crane  ?  That  gal  with 
such  red  cheeks  settin'  right  by  the  table,  do  you  mean 
G,  that  is  Kesier  Winkle,  she  always  contrives  to  get 
a  seat  where  she  '11  be  seen.  She  takes  quite  a  notion 
to  Kier — ^but  I  guess  she  '11  miss  a  figger  there.  KieT 


63 


WIDOW   BEDOTT   PI?/ EE 3. 


Bedott  ain't  a  feller  to  be  drawd  in  hj  a  purt}^  face — 
he  wants  sometliing  besides  xhat — ^tho'  I  never  thougbt 
she  was  so  wonderful  handsome,  do  you — ^her  cheeks 
is  red  to  be  sure,  but  every  body  can  have  such  a  col 
or  if  they  want — jo\i  understand,  hey  I  tho'  tain't  for 
me  to  say  she  paints,  never  standin'  there  is  them  that 
says  so.  I 'm  very  glad  Kier  don't  think  o'  havin'  on 
her — I  never  did  like  the  Winkles.  Old  Winkle 's  a 
hard  old  case,  and  they  deiu  say  Kesier 's  considerable 
like  him. 

There !  I  guess  Miss  Pendergrass  has  got  roasted 
out — she 's  a  comin'  this  way  with  her  admyrable  bo^ 
— don't  see  -what  she  wants  to  crowd  in  here  for — 
should  think  she  might  find  a  seat'somewhere  else — 
shouldent  you  ?  (Mr.  Crane  relinquishes  his  seat  to 
Mrs.  Pendergrass  and  takes  the  one  she  left.)  Good 
evenin',  Miss  Pendergrass !  found  yer  sittivation  rather 
warm,  hey?  Well — /make  it  a  pint  never  to  change 
my  seat  in  meetins  and  lecturs  and  suck  places,  when 
other  folks  is  obleeged  to  change  theirn  t'  accommer- 
date  me.  I  think  /  can  afford  to  be  oncomfortable  as 
Vv^ell  as  other  folks  can^hope  Mr.  Crane  won't  ketch 
his  death  a  cold  when  he  goes  out,  on  account  o'  bry- 
lin'  and  stewin'  there  by  the  stove — he  ain't  well  at 
all.  O  don't  git  up.  Miss  Pendergrass — dew  sit  still 
now  you  've  got  here.  What  a  curus  consarn  this 
t  lireenyolcgy  is,  ain't  it  ?    What  an  age  of  improve- 

cnt  we  live  in  I    If  any  body  d  a  told  us  onco 


THE  WIDOW   LOSES  HER  BEAU. 


67 


how't  in  a  few  year  we'd  be  able  to  tell  egzacklj 
wbat  folks  was  by  the  shape  o'  ther  heads — y/e  would- 
ent  a  bleeved  a  word  on' t — would  we  ?  You  rem-ern- 
ber  readin'  about  old  mother  0"Killem,  in  that  ars 
book  I  lent  you,  don't  you?  Well,  he's  mistaker; 
about  one  thing  relatin'  to  her.  He  says  she  killed 
the  niggar  wench  by  choppin'  olf  her  head — now 
'twa'n't  so — she  stomped  on  her — I"  remember  just 
how  'twas,  don't  you?  Ain't  his  wife  a  turrible  hum- 
bly woman?  Her  head  looks  jist  like  a  punkin',  and 
Lisen  looks  like  a  cheese,  don't  it  ?  You  gwine  t'.» 
hear  her  lectur  to  the  ladies  to-morrcr  ?  Guess  /sha-i 
— ^if  it 's  as  interestin'  a  lectur  as  hisen,  it  11  be  worth 
hearin' — though  I  don't  think  much  o'  these  here 
wimmiQ  lecturers,  no  way — the  best  place  for  wim- 
min to  hum — a  mindin'  their  own  bizness,  accoram' 
tc  my  notions.  You  remember  that  one  that  come 
*:?und  a  spell  ago,  awhalin'  away  about  human  rights. 
1  thought  she 'd  ought  to  be  hoss-whipt  and  shet  up 
in  jail,  dident  you?  Dew,  for  pity's  sake,  look  at 
Major  Coon's  wife  a  bio  win'  herself  with  her  pocket- 
handkercher !  Did  you  see  her  when  she  come  in  ? 
Dident  she  cut  a  spludge,  tho'  ?  I  never  did  see  such 
an  affected  critter  as  she  is  in  all  my  born  days.  When 
you  see  any  body  put  on  such  airs  as  she  does,  you  ms/j 
sure  they  was  raised  up  out  o'  the  dirt.  They  're 
what  Kier  calls  "the  mud  aristocrasy."  She  gwine 
to  have  a  party  Thursday  evenin'  ?    How  you  talk 


68 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


— how  did  you  hear  ? — told  you  herself,  hey  ?  Is  snft 
gwine  to  have  mamed  folks  and  young  folks  both  ? 
Well,  them  \s  the  right  kind  o'  parties — enough  sight 
pleasanter  'n  where  they  're  all  married  folks  or  all 
young  folks — don't  you  think  so  ?  "Well,  I  should 
think  she'd  have  a  party — hain't  never  gin  a  reglar 
smasher  yit — and  they  're  able  to  dew 't.  1+.  's  pleasant 
to  git  a  body's  friends  and  nabors  together — ^has  an 
attendancy  to  permote  sociabilitude.  I  always  thought 
Miss  Coon  was  a  nice  woman.  Folks  has  a  good  deal 
to  sa}^  about  her,  cause  she  vras  a  hired  gal  when  she 
?7as  young— -but  I  never  thought  'twas  any  thing 
against  her — Miss  Jinkins  used  to  run  her  down  dret- 
fuily  afore  they  got  to  be  so  intimit — -and  v/heneye: 
she  used  to  begin  a  slanderin'  Miss  Coon  ttfore  me.  T. 
£-lways  made  it  a  pint  to  ^tan'  up  for  her.  I  've  some 
times  thought  she  was  rutJier  affected— hsim^t  you?  — 
but  then  you  kiiow  it  "s  natral  for  some  fclks  t«> 
affected — I  hope  Mr.  Crane's  settin'  with  mo  -nighi 
won't  make  any  talk.  I  shouldent  wonder  tho'  if  it 
should — it  don't  take  nothin'  to  make  a  story  in  Wig- 
gletown — but  I  couldent  git  up  and  go  off,  you  know, 
when  he  come  and  sot  down  by  me — t"  wouldent  a  ben 
perlite — s'pose  you  're  heerd  he 'd  called  t'  our  house 
a  number  o'  times  ?  Hain't  ? — well  that 's  curus — it 's 
all  over  town.  I  wish  folks  wouldent  bo  gitten'  up 
such  reports  about  me.  Mr.  Crane 's  a  fine  man — o 
very  fine  man — but  if  folks  thinks  I 've  any  idee  o 


THE   "WIDOW   LOSES   HER   BEAU.  69 

changin'  mj  condition  at  present,  thej  're  mistaken. 
I  hain't  begun  to  think  about  no  such  thing  jit.  I 
think  it 's  a  pity  if  Mr.  Crane  can't  call  t'  our  house 
once  in  a  while,  without  the  hull  naboihood  bein'  in 
a  blaze  about  it — I  enj  most  hope  he  won't  see  me 
hum  to-night — cause  that  would  make  folks  say 't  was 
a  gone  case  with  us  sartin  sure.  I  see  Kier  come  in 
a  spell  ago — hope  he  'II  go  with  me — though  I  s'pose 
he 's  come  a  purpose  to  go  hum  with  some  o'  the  gals. 
There  I  the  lectur's  out — Seliny,  wait  a  minnit  till  the 
crowd  gits  along — I  don't  want  to  be  squashed  to 
death — lookj  Miss  Pendergrass !  dew  see  the  widder 
JinkLis  a  squeezin'  up  along  side  o'  Mr.  Crane — did 
you  ever !  if  that  ain't  rich  I  I  guess  if  she  thinks 
she 's  a  gwine  to  ketch  him  she 's  mistaken.  As  true 
as  the  worlvl  she 's  look  his  arm,  and  he 's  a  gvv-ine 
hum  with  her !  Well — I  '11  bet  forty  great  apples  she 
axed  him  tew.  [The  young  ladies  have  beaux,  and 
Kiel  very  dutifully  escorts  bis  mother  home,  jxist  aa 
h/^'*'/J  he  "'mi'/I.'] 


VII. 


llr.  Crane  abjaut  is  frjap^K 

TEST  in  time,  Mr.  Crane — we  've  jest  tliis  minnit 
sot  down  to  tea — draw  np  a  cheer  and  set  hy — 
now  don't  say  a  word — I  shan't  take  no  for  an  answer. 
Should  a  had  things  ruther  different  to  be  sure,  if  I  * 
suspected  you,  Mr.  Crane — but  I  wori't  appolljgise-  — 
appolhgies  don't  never  make  notLIn'  no  better,  y*:a 
know.  Why,  Mehssy,  you  hain't  half  sot  the  tab'  - 
Where 's  the  plum  sass  ?  thought  you  was  a  gwine  to 
git  some  on 't  for  tea.  I  don't  see  no  cake  nothcr. 
what  a  kerless  gal  you  be  ?  Dew  bring  'em  on  quick 
— and  Melissy,  dear,  fetch  out  one  o'  them  are  pun'^dn 
pies  and  put  it  a  warmin'.  How  do  you  take  yer  '♦■■ea, 
Mr.  Crane?  clear,  hey?  how  much  that  makes  me 
think  o'  husband !  he  always  drunk  hisen  clear.  Now 
dew  make  yerself  to  hum,  Mr.  Crane — help  yersell'to 
things.  Do  you  eat  johnny  cake  ?  'cause  if  you  don't 
I  '11  cut  some  wheat  bread — dew  hey  ?  we  're  all  gret 
hands  for  injin  bread  here,  'specially  Kier.  If  I  don't 
make  a  johnny  cake  every  few  days,  he  says  to  me, 
says  he,  "  Mar,  why  don't  you  make  some  injin  bread  ? 


MR.   Cr.ANE   APOUT  TO   PROPOSE  71 

it  seems  as  if  \;q  hadent  never  had  none."  Mel/ssj, 
pass  the  clieeze.  Kler,  see  't  Mr.  Crane  lias  butter. 
This  ere  butter 's  a  leetle  grain  frowy.  I  don't  want 
jou  to  think  it 's  my  make^  for  't  ain't — Sam  Pender- 
grasses  wife  (she  'twas  Sally  Smith)  she  boirered  but- 
ter o'  me  'tother  day,  and  this  'ere 's  what  she  sent 
back.  I  wouldent  a  had  it  on  if  I 'd  suspected  com- 
pany. How  do  you  feel  to-day,  Mr.  Crane?  Dident 
take  no  cold  last  night  ?  well,  I 'm  glad  on 't,  I  was 
raly  afeared  you  would,  the  lectur  room  was  so  turri- 
ble  hot  I  was  eny  most  roasted,  and  I  wa'n't  drest 
wonderful  warm  nother,  had  on  my  green  silk  man- 
killer — and  that  ain't  very  thick.  Take  a  pickle,  Mr. 
Crane — I 'm  glad  you  're  a  favorite  o'  pickles.  I  think 
pickles  is  a  dehghtful  beveridge — don't  feel  as  if  I 
30uld  make  out  a  meal  without  'em — once  in  a  while 
I  go  a  visitin'  where  they  don't  have  none  on  the 
table — and  when  I  git  hum  the  fust  thing  I  dew 's  to 
dive  for  the  buttry  and  git  a  pickle.  But  husband 
couldent  eat  'em — they  was  like  pizen  tew  him.  Me- 
lissy  never  eats  'era  nother — she  ain't  no  pickle  hand 
Some  gals  eats  pickles  to  make  'em  grow  poor,  but 
Melissy  hain't  no  such  foohsh  notions.  I 've  brung 
her  up  so  she  shouldent  have.  "Why — I 've  heerd  o' 
gals  drinkin'  vinegar  to  thin  'em  off  and  make  ther 
shin  delekit.  They  say  Kesier  AYinkle — why  Kier, 
what  be  you  pokin'  the  sass  at  Mr.  Crane  for  ?  Melissy 
jest  helped  him.   I  heered  Carline  Gallup  say  how  h 


72 


WIDOW    BEDOTT  rAT.%lii. 


Kesicr  Winkle — why  Kier  Tvliat  dew  you  mean  by 
offeriii'  the  cold  pork  to  Mr.  Crane  ?  jest  as  if  he 
-wanted  pork  for  his  tea  1  you  see  Kier 's  ben  over  to 
■lie  Holler  to-day  on  bizness  with  old  uncle  Dawson, 
and  he  come  num  ^vith  quite  an  appertite — says  to 
me.  sa^'s  he  '-'Mar,  dew  set  on  some 'cold  pork  and 
taters,  for  I 'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear."  Lemme  fill  up 
yer  cup.  Mr.  Crane.  Melissy,  bring  on  that  are  pie,  I 
guess  it's  warm  by  this  time.  There!  I  don't  think 
any  body 'd  say  that  punkin  was  burnt  i\  stewin'. 
Take  another  pickle,  Mr.  Crane.  0, 1  was  a  gwine  to 
tell  what  Carline  Gallup  said  about  Kesier  Winkle, 
Carhne  Gallup  was  a  manty  maker — what,  Kier? 
ruther  apt  to  talk  ?  well,  I  know  she  icas — but  then 
she  used  to  be  sowin'  't  old  "Winkle's  about  half  the 
time,  and  she  know'd  purty  well  what  went  on  there 
— ^yes — I  know  sowin'  gals  is  ginerally  tattlers.  It 's  a 
turrible  bad  trait  in  any  body — 'specially  in  them — - 
they  hain't  no  bizness  to  go  round  from  house  to 
house  a  tellin'  what  guz  on  among  folks  that  finds 
'em  ther  bread  and  butter.  I  never  incurridge  'em  in 
it.  When  I  have  manty  m^akers  to  work  for  me — as 
sure  as  they  undertake  to  insiniwate  any  thing  aginst 
any  o'  my  nabors — I  tell  ye,  I  shet  'em  up  quicker — 
but  I  was  gwine  to  tell  what  Carline  Gallup  said — 
Carline  was  a  very  stiddy  gal — she  was  married  aho^zi 
•  a  year  ago — married  Jo  Bennet — Philander  Bennet'a 
son— you  remember  Phil  Bennet,  don't  ycu,  Mr. 


Mli.   CRANE   ABOUT  TO   PROPOSE.  73 


Crane  ?  he  't  was  killed  so  sudding  over  to  Gander- 
field  ?  Tliongli  come  to  tliink,  it  must  a  ben  arter 
you  went  away  from  here.  He 'd  moved  over  to 
Ganderfield  the  spring  afore  he  was  killed.  Well,  one 
day  in  hayin'-time  he  was  to  work  in  the  hay -field — 
take  another  piece  o'  pie,  Mr.  Crane — 0  dew — I  insist  ^ 
on 't.  Well,  he  was  to  work  in  the  hay -field,  and  he 
fell  off  the  hay-stack.  I  s'pose  't  wouldent  a  killed 
him  if, it  hadent  a  ben  for  his  comin'  kersmash  onto  a 
jug  that  was  a  settin'  on  the  ground  aside  o'  the  stack. 
The  spine  of  his  back  went  right  onto  the  jug  and 
broke  it — ^broke  his  back,  I  mean — not  the  jug — tlcaL 
wa'n't  even  cracked — curus!  wa'n't  it?  ''Twas  quite 
a  comfort  to  Miss  Bennet  in  her  affliction — 't  was  a  jug 
she  vallyed — one 't  was  her  mother's.  His  bein'  killed 
so  was  a  turrible  blow  to  Miss  Bennet,  the  circum- 
stances was  so  aggravatin'.  I  writ  a  piece  o'  poitry 
on  the  occasion  and  sent  it  tew  her ;  she  said  'fc  was 
qullo  coiisolin'.    It  says : 

O  Ganderfield ! 

Where  is  thy  shield 
To  guard  against  grim  Deatli  ? 

lie  aims  his  gun  , 

At  old  and  young, 
And  fires  away  their  breath  ' 

One  summer's  day 

For  to  'tend  tew  his  hay, 
Mr.  Bennet  went  to  the  medder— r 

Fell  down  from  the  stack — 

Broke  the  spine  of  his  back. 
And  left  a  moumin'  widder  I 
4 


74  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEKS- 

T  was  occasioned  by  his  Ian  din' 
0x1  a  jug  tliat  was  standin' 
Alongside  o'  the  stack  o'  hay — 

Some  folks  say  'twas  wnab  was  in  it 
Caused  the  faU  oi  Mr.  Beiinet, 
But  ther  ain't  a  word  of  truth  in  what  they  say — 

^T  iciu  true,  though,  and  I  know'd  it,  but  of  course  1 
wouldcnt  a  had  Miss  Bonnet  s'pose  I  did  for  all  crea- 
tion. She  sticks  to 't  to  this  day 't  was  molasses  and 
water  'twas  in  the  jug.  That's  a  likely  story  I 
Why!  'twas  a  common  rejDort  for  better 'n  a  year 
afore  he  was  killed,  that  Phil  Bonnet  was  a  gittin  on- 
steady,  but  I  never  let  Miss  Bennet  know 't  I  had  any 
such  idee.  She  and  me  was  always  quite  intimit. 
She  was  Lorainy  Perce,  old  Peter  Perce's  darter ;  you 
know  I  sot  a  gret  deal  by  Lorainy.  She  took  it  purty 
hard  when  her  husband  was  killed;  she  went  into 
awful  deep  mournin' — mournin'  wasbccomin'  tew  her, 
she  was  a  dark  complected  woman ;  and  she  wa'n't 
satisfied  with  wearin'  mournin  herself,  *t  wa'n't  enough, 
she  even  put  black  caliker  bcd-kivcrs  onto  her  hod. 
I  remember  she  had  a  black  c:anton  crape  gownd  all 
trimmed  with  crape ;  but  she  dident  wear  her  mourn- 
in' long,  for  she  got  married  agin  in  about  three 
months — married  a  man  by  the  iiame  o'  F.iggins — 
carpenter  and  jinor  by  trade:  got  acquainted  with 
him  over  in  Yarmount,  when  she  was  rhere  a  visitin' 
tew  her  sister's — quite  a  forehanded  man.  But  T  was 
a  sayin'  that  poitry — where  had  I  got  tow!  0!  I 
tnow: 


MR.    C  E  A  N  E  .ABOUT   TO   PROPOSE.  75 


How  folks  can  slander 
Such  a  man  as  Philander 
Beanct 's  a  myL4ery  to  me — 

LebS  seo — wlir.t  comes  next  ? 

 a  mystery  to  me — 

 a  mystiry  to  me — 

Plague  ou 't!  what 's  the  reason  I  can't  remember  it? 

Such  a  man  as  Philander 
Bennet 's  a  mysteiy  to  me — 

Well — I  dew  declare  !■  'tis  curus  how  that 's  slipt  out 
o'  my  nund ;  dew  lemme  see  'f  I  can't  ketch  it — 

How  folks  can  slander 
Such  a  man  as  Philander 

]3ennet 's  a  mystery  to  me  

—a  mystery  to  me — 
 to  me — 

Well — I  '11  give  it  up — I  Ve  forgot  it — that 's  a  settled 
pint.  It 's  queer,  tew — it 's  the  fust  time  I  ever  dis- 
remembered  any  o'  my  poitry — but  it  can't  be  helped 
— mabby  it  '11  come  tew  me  some  time.  If  it  does, 
I  '11  write  it  down  and  show  it  to  you,  Mr.  Crane — I 
know  you  'd  be  pleased  v/ith  it.  Take  another  cup  o' 
tea,  Mr.  Crane.  "Why  !  you  don't  mean  to  say  you 've 
got  done  supper!  ain't  you  gwine  to  take  nothin' 
more  ?  no  more  o'  the  pie  7  nor  the  sass  ?  well,  won't 
you  have  another  pickle?  O,  that  reminds  me — 
was  a  gwinQ  to  tell  what  Carlino  GaPup  said  about 


76  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PaPEKS 

Kesier  Winkle.  Why,  Kier  seems  to  mo  you  ain^t 
very  perlite  to  leave  the  table  afore  any  todv  else 
does.  0,  yes,  1  remember  now,  it's  singiu'-school 
nigbt— I  s'pose  it 's  time  you  was  off,  Melissy — you 
want  to  go  tew  don't  you?  well,  I  guess  Mr.  Crane 'U 
excuse  you.  We  '11  jest  see  the  table  back  agin  the 
wall — I  won't  dew  the  dishes  jest  now.  Me  and  Me- 
lissy does  the  work  ourselves,  Mr.  Crane.  I  hain't 
kept  no  gal  sence  Melissy  was  big  enough  t*  aid  and 
assist  me — I  think  help 's  more  plague  than  profit. 
No  woman  that  has  grow'd  up  darters  necdent  keep 
help  if  she 's  brung  up  her  gals  as  she 'd  ought  tew. 
Melissy,  dear,  put  on  yer  cloak,  it's  a  purty  tejus 
evening  Kier,  you  tie  up  yer  throat,  you  know  you 
was  complainin'  of  a  soreness  in  't  to-day — and  you 
must  be  kerful  to  tie  it  up  when  you  come  hum — it 's 
dangerous  t'  egspose  yerself  arter  singin' — apt  to  give 
a  body  the  browncritters — and  that 's  turrible — ^you 
couldent  sing  any  more  if  you  should  git  that,  you 
know.  You'd  oetter  call  for  Miraiidy  and  Seliny. 
haient  you  ?    Don't  be  out  late. 

Now,  Mr.  Crane,  draw  up  to  the  stove — you  must 
be  chilly  off  there.  You  gwine  to  the  party  to  Major 
Coon's  day  after  to-morrow  ?  S'pose  they  '11  give  out 
ther  invitations  to-morrow.  Dew  go,  Mr.  Crane,  it  'U 
chirk  you  up  and  dew  you  good  to  go  out  into  socierty 
agin.  They  say  it's  to  be  quite  numerous.  But  I 
guess  ther  won't  be  no  dancin'  nor  highty  tiglity 


MR.   CRANE  ABOUT  TO  PROPOSE.  77 

dewins.  If  I  tlioiiglit  ther  would,  I  shouldent  go  my 
self,  for  I  don',t  approve  on  'em,  and  couldent  counte- 
nance 'em.  What  do  you  think  Sam  Pendergrasses 
wife  told  me  ?  she  said  how 't  the  widder  Jinkins  (she 
't  was  Poll  Bingham)  is  a  havin'  a  new  gownd  made  a 
purpose  to  wear  to  the  party — one  o'  these  'ere  flam- 
bergasted,  blazin'  plaid  consarns — with  tew  awful 
wide  kaiterin  flounces  round  the  skirt!  Did  you 
ever !  How  reedickilous  for  a  woman  o'  her  age,  ain't 
it  ?  I  s'pose  she  expects  t'  astonish  the  naty ves,  and 
make  her  market  tew,  like  enough — well,  she 's  to  be 
pitied.  0,  Mr.  Crane !  I  thought  I  should  go  off  last 
night  when  I  see  that  old  critter  squeeze  up  and  hook 
onto  you.  How  turrible  imperdent — ^wa'n't  it  ?  But 
seems  to  me,  I  shouldent  a  felt  as  if  I  was  oblec^  ed 
to  went  hum  with  her  if  I 'd  a  ben  in  your  place,  Mr. 
Crane.  She  made  a  purty  speech  about  me  to  the 
lectux — I 'm  a'most  ashamed  to  tell  you  on 't,  ^fr. 
Crane — but  it  shows  what  tlie  critter  is  Kier  said  he 
heered  her  stretch  her  neck  acro.Mt  and  whisper  to  ^>ld 
Green,  "  Mr.  Green,  don't  you  think  the  Widder  Be- 
dott  scorns  to  1x5  wonderfully  took  up  with  cramoLgy. 
She's  the  bmzin-facedest  critter  t'  ever  lived — it  does 
beat  all — never  did  see  her  equill — but  it  tiikeo  all 
sorts  o'  folks  to  make  up  the  world,  you  know.  W"iat 
did  I  understand  you  to  say,  Mr.  Crane? — a  few 
minnit's  conversation  with  me  ? — deary  me  !  Is  it  any 
thing  pertickeler,  Mr.  Crane !    0,  dear  suz '  how  you 


78 


WIDOW   BEDOTi  PAPERS. 


dew  flustrate  me  I  not  that  it 's  any  thing  oncommon 
for  the  gentlemen  to  ax  to  have  privite  conversations 
with  me  you  know — but  then — ^but  tlien — bein'  you — 
it 's  different — circumstances  alters  cases  you  know— 
what  was  you  a  gwine  to  sa}^,  Mr.  Crane  ? 


VIII 


NO,  Mr.  Crane,  by  no  manner  o'  means,  't  ain't  a 


minnit  lew  soon  for  you  to  begin  to  talk  about 
gittin'  married  agin.  I  am  amazed  you  should  be 
afeerd  I 'd  think  so.  See — how  long 's  Miss  Crane  ben 
dead  ?  Six  months  ! — land  o'  Goshen ! — why  I 've 
know'd  a  number  of  individdiwals  get  married  in  less 
time  than  that.  There 's  Phil  Bennett's  widder  t'  I 
was  a  talkin'  about  jest  now — she 't  was  Louisy  Perce 
— ^her  husband  hadent  been  dead  but  three  months, 
jou  know.  1  don't  think  it  looks  well  for  a  woman 
to  be  in  sach  a  hurry — but  for  a  man  it 's  a  different 
thing — circumstances  alters  cases,  you  know.  And 
then,  sittiwated  as  you  be,  Mr.  Crane,  it 's  a  turrible 
thing  for  your  family  to  be  Avithout  a  head  to  superin 
tend  the  domestic  cousarns  and  tend  to  the  children— 
to  say  nothin'  o'  yerself,  Mr.  Crane.  You  dew  need  a 
companion,  and  no  mistake.  Six  months!  Good 
grievous!  Why  Squire  Titus  dident  v/ait  but  six 
weeks  arier  ho  buried  his  fust  wife  afore-  he  married 
his  sccc  nd-    I  thought  ther  wa'n't  no  partickler  necnl 


80 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


liis  hurrjin'  so,  seein'  his  family  was  all  grow'd  up. 
Such  a  critter  as  he  pickt  out,  tew !  't  was  very  on- 
suitable — but  every  man  to  his  taste — I  hain't  no  dis- 
persition  to  meddle  with  nobody's  consarns.  There 's 
old  farmer  Dawson,  tew — ^his  pardner  hain*t  ben  dead 
but  ten  months.  To  be  sure  he  ain't  married  yet — 
but  he  would  a  ben  long  enough  ago  if  somebody  I 
know  on 'd  gin  him  any  incurridgement.  But  tain't 
for  me  to  speak  o'  that  matter.  He 's  a  clever  old 
critter  and  as  rich  as  a  Jew — but — ^lawful  sakes !  he 
old  enough  to  be  my  father.  And  there 's  Mr.  Smith 
— Jubiter  Smith — ^you  know  him,  Mr.  Crane — ^his  wife 
(she 't  was  Aurory  Pike)  she  died  last  summer,  and 
he 's  ben  squintin'  round  among  the  wimmin  ever 
since,  and  he  may  squint  for  all  the  good  it  '11  dew 
him  as  far  as  I 'm  consarned — tho'  Mr.  Smith's  a  re- 
spectable man — quite  young  and  hain't  no  family — 
very  well  off  tew,  and  quite  intellectible — ^but  I  tell  ye 
what — I 'm  purty  partickler.  0,  Mr.  Crane  !  it 's  ten 
year  come  Jinniwary  since  I  witnessed  the  expiration 
o'  my  belovid  companion ! — an  oncommon  long  time 
to  wait,  to  be  sure — but 't  ain't  easy  to  fmd  any  bcdy 
to  fill  the  place  o'  Hezekier  Bedott.  I  think  you 
the  most  like  husband  of  ary  individdiwal  I  ever  S(.  ->, 
Mr.  Crane.  Six  months !  rhurderation !  curus  yo  i 
should  be  afeard  I 'd  think 't  was  tovv  soon — why  1  Vo 
know'd— " 

Mr,  Crane. — Well  widder — T  've  oeeT.  '  ojiilvuig 


MR.   CRANE   WALKS  OUT. 


81 


about  taking  another  companion — and  I  tlaouglit  I 'd 
ask  jou — " 

Widow. — "  0,  Mr.  Crane,  egscuse  my  commotion- 
it  's  so  onexpected.  Jest  hand  me  that  are  bottle  o' 
camfire  off  the  mantletrj  shelf — I 'm  ruther  faint- — 
dew  put  a  little  mite  on  mj  handkercher  and  hold  it 
to  my  nuz.  There — that  '11  dew — I 'm  obleeged  tew 
ye — now  I'm  ruther  more  composed — ^youmayper- 
ceed,  Mr.  Crane." 

Mr.  Crane, — "Well  widder,  I  was  agoing  to  ask 
you  whether — ^wnetlier — " 

Widow. — Continner,  Mr.  Crane — dew — I  know 
it  's  turrible  embarrisin*.  I  remember  when  my  de- 
zeased  husband  made  his  suppositions  to  me,  he  stam- 
mered and  stuttered,  and  was  so  awfully  flustered  it 
did  seem  as  if  he 'd  never  git  it  out  in  the  world,  and 
I  s'pose  it 's  ginerally  the  case,  at  least  it  has  been  with 
all  them  that 's  made  suppositions  to  me — you  see 
they  're  ginerally  oncerting  about  what  kind  of  an  an- 
ser  they  Ve  agwine  to  git,  and  it  kind  o'  makes  'era 
narvous.  But  when  an  individdiwal  has  reason  to 
s'pose  his  attachment  'a  rcciperated,  I  don't  see 
what  need  there  is  o'  his  bein'  flustratcd — tho'  I  must 
say  it 's  quite  embarrassin'  to  me — ^pray  continner." 

Mr,  C. — "  Well  then,  I  want  to  know  if  you  're  will 
iug  I  should  have  Melissy  ?^ 

Widow. — "  T}.e  drap;on  1" 

Mr       - "  J  hain't  sp.id  anv  thing  to  her  about  it  yet 
4^ 


82 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PATERS. 


tliouglit  the  proper  way  was  to  get  your  consent 
lirst.  I  remember  wlien  I  courted  Tryplieny  we  were 
engaged  some  time  before  mother  Kenipe  knew  any 
thing  about  it,  and  when  she  found  it  out  she  was 
quite  put  out  because  I  dident  go  to  her  first.  So 
when  I  made  up  my  mind  about  Melissy,  thinks  me, 
I  '11  dew  it  right  this  time  and  speak  to  the  old  woman 
first—" 

Widow. — "  Old  womarij  hey  !  that 's  a  purty  name 
to  call  me ! — amazin'  perlite  tew !  Want  Melissy,  hey  I 
Tribbleation !  gracious  sakes  alive !  well,  I  '11  give  it 
up  now  !  I  always  know'd  you  was  a  simpleton,  Tim 
Crane,  but  I  must  confess  I  dident  think  3^ou  was  quite ' 
so  big  a  fool — want  Melissy,  dew  ye  ?  If  that  don't 
beat  all !  AVhat  an  evorlastin'  old  calf  3^ou  must  be 
to  s'pose  she 'd  look  at  you.  Why,  you  're  old  enough 
to  bo  her  father,  and  vaotq  tew — Melissy  ain't  only  in 
her  twenty-oneth  year  What  a  reedickilous  idee  for 
a  man  o'  your  age  1  as  gray  as  a  rat  tew  !  I  wonder 
what  this  world  is  a  comin'  tew :  't  is  astonishin'  what 
fools  old  widdiwers  will  make  o'  themselves!  Have 
Melissy  I  Melissy!'' 

Mr.  C. — "  Why,  widder,  jou  surprise  me — I 'd  no 
idee  of  being  treated  in  this  way  after  you 'd  ben  so 
polite  ■  :  .  and  inade  such -a  fuss  over  me  and  the 
girls.'' 

Widoiv. — "  Shet  yer  a^ad,  Tiva  Crane — nun  o'  yei 
Bass  to  me    There 's  yer  hat  on  that  ai''^  table,  and 


Shet  yer  head,  Tim  Crane— nun  o'  yer  sass  to  me.  There's  yer  hat,  on  that  are  table, 
and  here's  the  door,  and  the  sooner  you  put  on  one,  and  march  out  o'  t'other,  the 
better  it'll  be  for  you.— Page  82. 


M  K  .    CRANE    \y  A  L  K  3    O  U  T. 


88 


here  the  door — and  the  sooner  you  put  on  one  and 
march  out  o' t'  other,  the  better  it  '11  be  for  you.  And 
I  advise  you  afore  you  try  to  git  married  agin,  to  go 
out  west  and  see  'f  yer  wife's  cold' — and  arter  ye  're 
satisfied  on  that  pint,  jest  put  a  little  lampblack  on 
yer  hair — 't  would  add  to  yer  appearance  ondoubtedly 
and  be  of  sarvice  tew  you  when  you  want  to  flourish 
round  among  the  gals — and  when  ye  Ve  got  yer  hair 
fixt^  jest  splinter  the  spine  o'  yer  back — 't  wouldent 
hurt  yer  looks  a  mite — you  'd  be  interely  unresistable 
if  you  was  a  leetle  grain  straiter." 
3fr.  C— "  Well,  I  never !" 

Widow. — ''Hold  yer  tongue — you  consarned  old 
coot  you — I  tell  ye  there  '5  yer  hat  and  iJiere  '5  the  door 
—be  off  with  yerself,  quick  metre,  or  I  '11  give  ye  a 
hyst  with  the  broomstick." 

Mr.  "Gimmeni!" 

Widow  J  rising. — "  Git  out,  I  say — I  ain't  a  gwine  to 
Stan  here  and  be  insulted  under  my  own  ru^T — and  so 
—git  along — and  if  ever  you  darken  my  door  agin, 
or  say  a  word  to  Me]is33^  it  '11  be  the  woss  for  you — 
that's  all." 

Mr.  C. — "  Troemenjous  !    What  a  buster  !" 

Widow. — "  Go  'long — go  'long — go  'long,  you  ever- 
lastin'  old  gum.  I  won't  hear  another  word  (stop^ 
her  eaisX  I  won't,  I  won't  I  won't." 

\  Exit  Mr.  Crane. 


84  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

(Bnrer  Melissa^  accompanied  hy  Captain  Canoot!) 

(jood  evenin',  cappen !    Well,  Melissy,  hum  ut 
last,  hey  ?  why  dident  you  stay  till  mornin'  ?  purty 
bizness  keepin'  me  up  here  so  late  waitin'  for  you — 
wnen  I 'm  eiw  most  tired  to  death  iornin'  and  workin' 
like  a  slave  all  day ; — ought  to  ben  abed  an  hour  ago. 
Thought  ye  left  me  with  agreeable  company,  hey  ?  I 
should  like  to  know  what  arthly  reason  you  had  to 
s'pose  old  Crane's  was  agreeable  to  me  ?    I  always 
dispised  the  cj-itter — always  thought  he  was  a  turrible 
fool — and  now  T 'm  convinced  on 't.    I 'm  completely 
dizgusted  with  him — and  I  let  him  know  it  to-night 
I  gin  him  a  piece  o'  my  mind 't  I  guess  he  '11  be  apt  to 
remember  for  a  spell.    I  ruther  think  he  went  off  with 
a  flea  in  his  ear.    Why^  cappen — did  3^6  ever  hear  o' 
such  a  piece  of  audacity  in  all  yer  born  days  ?  for 
him — Tim  Crane — to  durst  to  exphe  to  my  hand — the 
widder  o'  deacon  Bedott  I  jest  as  if  /'c?  condescen  to 
look  at  7ii/7i — the  old  numskull!    He  don't  know  B 
from  broomstick ;  but  if  he 'd  a  stayed  much  longer 
I 'd  a  teacht  him  the  difference,  I  guess.    He 's  got  his 
walhii}!  ticlzet  now — I  hope  he  '11  lemme  alone  in  futur. 
And  where 's  Kier  ?    Gun  home  with  the  Cranes,  hey  ! 
well,  I  g^jess  it 's  the  last  time.    And  now,  Melissy 
Bedott,  you  ain't  to  have  nothin'  more  to  dew  witb 
them  gals — d  'ye  hear?  you  ain't  to  sociate  with  'em  at 
all  artcr  this — 't  would  onl}^  be  incunidgin  th'  old  maii 
to  como  a  pesteriu  me  agin— -and  I  won't  have  him 


MR.   CRANE   WALKS  OUT. 


85 


round — d  'ye  hear  ?  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  cappen — 
and  don't  be  alarmed  at  mj  gitten'  in  such  passion 
about  old  Crane's  persumption.  Mabby  you  thinl? 
't  was  onfeelin  in  me  to  use  him  so — and  I  don't  say 
but  what 't  was  ruther^  but  then  he 's  so  awful  dizagree- 
able  tew  me,  you  know — *'t  ain't  every  body  I 'd  treat  in 
such  a  way.  Well,  if  you  must  go,  good  evenin'  I 
Give  my  love  to  Hanner  when  you  write  agin — deiir 
call  frequently,  Cappen  Canoot,  dew.'* 


Silt  "§tts  Ijtx  €r  " 

/f  ELISSY !  ain't  that  old  uncle  Dawson  a  drivm 
np  to  Smith's  store  ?  Weil,  I  tliongbt  so— I 've 
seen  hini  round  considrable  lately — ^ben  suspectin' 
every  day  lie 'd  be  callin'  in  liere — hain't  called  sence 
his  wife  died.  I  met  him  tother  day  and  axed  him 
why  he  dident  come — said  he 'd  ben  very  bizzy,  bnt 
he 'd  try  to  call  afore  long — so  I  guess  he 's  comin'  to- 
day, he's  so  spruced  up>  He's  got  on  a  new  over 
coat,  hain't  he?  that 's  the  reason  I  dident  know  him 
at  fust.  Melissy!  spring  tew  and  finish  pleetin'  on 
that  are  cap  border,  I  wanf  to  put  it  on,  this  ere 's  so 
dirty  I  should  be  ashamed  to  be  ketcht  in 't.  I  war 
you  should  set  the  border  furder  back,  and  the  bow 
a  leetle  higher  up  than  they  be  on  this  ere,  so 's  my  face 
won't  look  so  narrer,  it  makes  a  body  look  old  to  have 
snch  a  phizmahogany.  Here 's theribbin ;  come,  be  spry^ 
I  expect  every  minnit  to  see  him  come  out  o'  the  store. 
You  ncedent  sow  it  wonderful  tight,  jest  pin  them 
bows  OD,  don 't  stop  to  sow  em — ^that  '11  dew.  Guess 
I  '11  put  on  mj  ally  packer  gownd,  wouldent  ye  ?  it 's 


T£.J0   WIDOW    ''SETS  HER  CAP." 


87 


more  becomin'  tlian  ary  other  gownd  I  've  got.  Hold 
your  tongue,  Melissy — what  bizness  it  o'  yourn  if  I 
dew  set  my  cap  for  old  Dawson  ?  He 's  rich  as  mud 
ard  hain't  a  chick  nor  child  to  leave  his  for  tin'  tew. 
Cnivarsaler  ?  I  don't  bleve  a  word  on 't — he  goes  to 
.'^eetin'  quite  stiddy  lately.  I  don't  care  if  he  is  a 
UEiversaler  nother,  there 's  good  folks  in  all  denomi- 
aations — pm  down  my  collar  quick — he 's  enough 
sight  better  'n  old  Crane  is  with  all  his  sanctimony. 
Don't  you  think  it 's  an  improvement  settin'  the  bows 
high'ir  up  ?  I  tell  you  what,  Melissy  Bedott,  I  should 
like  a  chance  to  ride  over  the  heads  o'  some  o'  these 
ere  folks  that  feel  so  mighty  grand,  shouldent  you  'i 
you  sliouldent^  hey  ?  Well,  I  spoze  ye  wouldent — you 'd 
jest  as  Icvebe  put  down  and  trod  upon  as  not — you  're 
jest  like  yer  father,  he  hadent  no  more  sperrit  than  an 
©Id  goose,  and  you  hain't  nother.  For  my  part  I 'd 
liko  to  be  able  to  show  Miss  Coon 't  I 'm  as  good  as 
bhe  is  and  a  leetle  grain  better,  neverstandin'  she 
di  lent  invite  me  to  her  party,  the  miserable,  low-lifed 
critter!  shall  always  be  glad  I  dident  let  you  go — 
Bpoze  I  couldent  pcrvented  Kier's  gwine  if  he 'd  a  felt 
able — shall  always  be  glad  he  had  such  a  turrible  cold 
he  couldent  go.  Th3rG  comes  Mr.  Dawson!  he's 
gittin'  ii.  his  cutter.  Why !  as  true  as  natur  he 's 
dmv  up  street !  wonder  where  he 's  gwine !  You  jest 
go  to  the  door  and  see  where  he  stops — folks  '11  talk 
if  I.  go,  every  body 's  a  watch  in'  me.  Wei',  where  did 


88  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS 

he  go  ?  To  widder  Jinkinses  1 1  laud  o'  liberty  !  well 
I  '11  give  it  up  now !  I  '11  bet  a  cookey  slie  called  him 
in,  'twold  be  egzackly  like  her.  Well,  seeiu'  I  'ra 
drest,  I  '11  just  run  in  to  Sam  Pendergrasses.  I  w.ant 
to  see  Miss  Pendergrass — I  '11  take  my  knittin',  for 
mabby  I  shant  be  hum  to  tea.  If  I  shoidd  stay  there 
to  tea  don't  you  and  Kier  be  a  lettin'  into  the  pluro 
sass  and  cake,  as  you  did 't  other  day  when  I  went  to 
Deacon  Knipe's.  Git  some  o'  them  are  cold  beans  in 
the  cubberd,  and  the  bread 't  was  left  at  dinner,  there's 
enough  on 't,  don't  cut  no  more — je  won't  want  no 
butter  if  ye  have  beans.  And  if  Mr.  Dawson  calls, 
you  come  arter  me,  d  'ye  hear  ?  (On  her  return  in  the 
evening  she  finds  Mr.  Jupiter  Smith  visiting  Melissa.) 
How  deiv  you  do,  Mr.  Smith  ?  Ben  here  long  ?  I 'm 
sorry  I  was  out  when  you  came — glad  you  stayed  'till 
I  got  back  tho'.  When  did  3^ou  git  home  from  Yar- 
mount?  To-day,  hey!  How  did  you  find  your 
parents?  So  you  mist  that  are  all-killin'  genteel 
party  last  night  ?  Well,  I  guess  you  dident  lose  much 
— 't  ain't  no  credit  to  nobody  to  go  to  such  a  place. 
Sam  Pendergrasses  wife 's  ben  a  tellin'  me  about  it, 
she  w^as  there,  and  of  all  the  strains  ever  I  heerd  on  I 
should  think  that  was  the  cap  she^f.  Why  wa'n't 
I  there  ?  'cause  I  don't  sociate  with  such  company  as 
the  Coons.  I  wa'n't  invited,  to  be  sure — she 'd  as  soon 
a  thought  of  invitin'  the  governor  as  me..  I  should- 
ent  a  went  a  step  if  had  a  ben  invited — why,  Misa 


TxiE  WIDOW    "SETS  HER  CAP."  89 

Coon  used  to  be  a  Mred  ^al  in  her  young  days !  and 
now  sence  she 's  got  a  hyst  in  the  worlo.  she  tries  to 
cut  a  spludge  and  make  folks  think  she  s  a  lady — 
but  any  body  that 's  used  to  good  company,  can  see 
in  a  minnit  that  she  5  no  lady.  They  say  the  way 
she  performed  last  night  was  a  caution.  She  had  a 
gret  loL.g  cstridge  feather  in  her  head,  and  she  paraded 
rouij.l  like  a  grannydear — bowin'  and  smilin'  and 
curchyin'  with  as  much  dignitude  as  if  she 'd  a  ben  the 
queen  o'  Sheby — wa'n't  io  laffable  ?  If  I 'd  a  ben 
there  I  know  I  should  a  snorted  right  out  in  her  face. 
Old  Crane  was  there  tew,  pokin'  round  among  the 
gals — mip-bty  partickler  to  Kesier  V^inkle,  they  say. 
Did  you  ever '  and  his  wife  hain't  ben  dead  but  six 
months  I  ain't  it  awful  ?  Well,  I 'm  glad  I 've  got  rid 
o'  tho  critter  at  last.  He 's  ben  stickin'  round  me  evei 
since  he  come  here — and  it  did  seem  as  if  I  should  go 
crazy,  he 's  so  terrible  disagreeable — but  I  gin  him  s 
check  on  the  tow-path 't  other  day — and  I  ruther 
guess  he  ^1  lemme  alone  arter  this.  Kesier  Winkle  1 
ain't  it  reedickelous  ?  I  don't  see  what  he  could 
fancy  about  her,  do  you  ?  ther  ain't  nothin'  of  her  but 
her  purty  face — and  /  never  thought  that  was  so  awful 
handsome  as  some  folks  does.  Her  red  cheeks  is  her 
only  beauty,  and  they  dew  say  them  ain't  natral.  But 
I  dcn't  want  to  hurt  Kesiah  Winkle — she's  an  un- 
offensive,  simple  critter — I  shall  pity  her  if  she  gits 
Tim  Crane,  he  s^  tae^  meanest  of  all  created  critters 


90 


WIDCW  BETOiT  PAPERa. 


I  knc  wed  bim  in  his  young  days.  I  mean  when  ha 
was  Tidier  yoang,  and  I  was  very  young  indeed.  I 
knowed  liim  always  till  he  went  to  the  West — and 
I 'd  as  soon  think  o'  havin'  the  old  boy"  as  him. 
He  don't  know  nothin'  only  how  to  make  money — 

0  yes  he  does  to — he  knows  how  to  keep  it.  Of  all 
stingy  mortals  he 's  the  stingiest.  Husband  dispised 
him — used  to  say,  Tim  Crane  was  so  tight  ho  fairly 
begrudged  the  air  he  breathed — and  it  *8  a  fact.  Massy 
tew  me !  it  does  seem  onaccountable  how  any  body 
can  be  so  beset  to  get  married  as  to  take  u^d  with  him 
— don't  it?  He's  the  consarndest  old  gump  tew 't 
ever  was — no  intellectibility  at  all.  I  always  knowed 
he  was  a  dretful  ninny,  but  I  dident  think  he  was  so 
awful  silly  as  he  is  till 't  other  night  at  the  Phreeny- 
ogical  lectur.  He  come  and  sot  down  by  me ;  I  was 
turribly  provoked  to  have  him  a  stickin'  round  me  in 
public  so,  but  I  couldent  help  it,  you  know ;  I  was 
purty  haughty  tew  him,  I  tell  ye.  Well,  if  you  '11 
believe  it — as  true  as  I  set  here — when  the  leeterer  was 
tcllin'  about  the  organs  in  folkses  heads,  old  Crane 
thought  he  meant  them  are  music  organs — it 's  a  fact ; 

1  never  was  so  dizgusted  in  my  life.  Well,  he  ain't 
worth  talkin'  about,  and  I  make  U  a  pint  never  tx!^  talk 
about  nobody.  I  eny  most  wish  you  had  a  ben  to 
that  party,  Mr.  Smith ;  it  must  a  ben  quite  entertainiu' 
to  see  the  dewins.  They,  say  the  widder  Jmkina 
made  herself  perfectly  redickious.    She  was  drest 


THE  WIDOW    "SETS   HER   CAP."  91 

oil*  like  a  young  gal — false  curls  on  and  artifisliel 
fiowv^rs  in  her  cap.  I  tliink  that 's  very  unproper  for 
a  woman  o'  her  age — ^vhj,  I  never  wear  'em,  and  I 
ain't  i.owhere  nigh  so  old  as  she  is — 't  is  amazin !  and 
thej  e^y  she  cut  round  and  hollered  and  laffed  and 
tried  t<  be  wonderful  interestin'.  They  say  she 's  a 
trjin'  to  draw  in  old  uncle  Dawson;  wouldent  it  be  awful 
if  she  should  coax  him  up  to  marry  her?  but  if  she 
should,  he 's  a  bigger  fool  than  I  took  him  for,  that 's 
all—what  say  ?  is  gwine  to  marry  her  ?  wh}^  Jubiter 
Smith  1  I  don't  bleve  it — if  't  was  so  Sam  Pender- 
grasses  wife  would  a  knowed  it — she  knoAvs  every 
thing  that  guz  on  in  the  place — though  she  and  Misss 
Jinlrins  ain't  very  friendly ;  but  I  know 't  ain't  so: — 
■\.'jd  told  you,  Mr.  Smith?  Miss  Jinkins  herself!! 
land  c''  JSTod !  I  Next  week ! !  you  don't ! !  well— I  '11 
gT'e  it  up  now  !  The  widder  Jinkins  a  gwine  to  be 
married  to  old  uncle  Dawson  !  If  that  ain't  the  last 
thin)?  I  ever  heerd  on  !  What  ts  this  world  a  comin' 
tew  ?  How  redicklous!  Vvrell,  she 's  a  mean,  good-for- 
Dothin'.  underhanded  critter  to  go  to  work  a  settin' 
her  traps  for  that  poor  old  man,  and,  conduce  him  to 
make  such  a  flumbergasted  fool  o'  himself  in  his  old 
age!  What  a  dog's  life  she  '11  lead  him  tew  !  Why 
slie 's  the  awfuUest  tempered  critter 't  ever  was  made. 
I 've  knowed  Poll  Bingham  from  a  gal,  and  I  don't 
bleve  Bill  Jinkins  would  a  turned  out  such  a  misrable 
shack  if  L'  -  r.  a  ha •:er-3Dfc  woman  for  a  wife.  Poll 


92 


WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS 


Jinkins  and  old  Dawson  ?  tribbilation  II  Wt  she  *s 
been  ravin'  distracted  to  git  married  ever  siiice  her 
husband  died,  and  arter  all,  she  couldent  gitx^oboJy 
but  that  poor  decripped,  superanimated  old  fcllor,  K 
she  wa'n't  dretful  anxious  to  git  manid  she  w^uldeut 
take  Mm,  MeJissj,  dear,  go  down  suller  and  git  some 
apples — some  o'  the  seek-no-furders — don't  fiill  down 
and  break  y^r  neck,  darlin'.  Old  Dawson  I  why  he 's 
a  Univarsaler  I  ain't  it  awful  ?  I 'd  as  so^  a  think  o' 
havin'  a  Hoppintot.  If  that  had  a  ben  th  *  only  thing 
ther  was  aginst  him,  /  shouldent  a  had  /  .m.  I  ncTer 
gin  him  no  incurridgement — -just  as  if  \  were  a  gwine 
to  take  up  with  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harrj ,  arter  boia'  the 
wife  o'  such  a  man  as  Deacon  Bedott!  He's  an 
amazin'  ignorant  old  coot,  tew — 't  is  surprism*  bx-w 
little  he  knows  I  Git  some  knives  and  plates,  now, 
Melissy — help  yourself  to  apples,  Mr.  Smith.  I  can 
tell  you  a  circumstance  that  actilly  took  place  once — 
that  '11  show  you  what  an  ignorant  old  heathen  he  is. 
His  wife  used  to  belong  to  Parson  Potter's  church, 
and  once  in  a  while  he  used  to  come  to  mcetin'  with 
her,  and  he  always  used  to  go  to  sleep  as  soon  as  the 
sarmon  begun,  and  sleep  till  meetin'  was  out — well, 
one  Sabberday  old  Dawson  was  to  meetin' — and  Par- 
son Potter  preached  some  doctrinal  pint— ^I  don't  now 
remember  what  was  the  theme  of  his  subject — but 
any  way,  arter  he 'd  gin  out  his  text,  i^ays  he, 
"  Brothrin— the    subject    under  consideration  thi^ 


THE   WIDOW  "SETS   HEK   CAP."  93 

mormn'  is  one  o'  the  biggest  importance,  and  1  Ve 
gin  it  mj  unmitigated  attention  for  a  number  o'  year 
— but  I 'm  sorry  to  say,  the  commontaters  don't  agree 
with  me."  "Well,  old  Dawson  heerd  that — and  then 
he  dropt  asleep  as  usual.  The  next  arternoon  Miss 
Potter  had  company — what 's  called  a  "  deacon  part}'," 
you  know — that  is — all  the  deacons  and  ther  wives. 
There  was  Deacon  Kenipe  and  his  wife,  Deacon  Crosby 
and  his  wife.  Deacon  Whipple  and  his  wife,  and  Deacon 
Bedott  and  me.  "Well,  as  we  was  all  a  settin'  there 
about  the  middle  o'  the  arternoon,  who  should  come 
in  but  old  uncle  Dawson,  luggin'  a  mortal  gret  sass- 
basket — "  Well  Parson,"  says  he,  "you  said  yesterday 
in  meetin'  how 't  the  common  taters  dident  agree  with 
ye — so  I 've  fetched  you  some  oncommon  ones — the 
very  best  that  ever  was  growd — for  I  reckoned 't  was 
tew  bad  you  should  be  obleeged  to  live  on  common, 
,  poor  taiers,  while  I  had  such  a  bundance  o'  good  uns. 
It 's  a  kind  I  fetcht  from  Connecticut — where  I  used 
to  live — ^nobody  round  here  hain't  got  nun  like  em. 
They  call  em  "  Harrington  blue-skins" — you  needent 
be  aibared  but  what  they  '11  agree  with  ye — ye  might 
eat  em  all  day,  and  not  feel  a  grain  the  woss  for 't." 

Now,  Mr.  Smith,  that  '5  a  fact — I  was  knowin'  to 't 
— Parson  Potter,  he  thankt  him  over  and  over  agin — 
and  we  all  contrived  to  keep  our  faces  strait  till  he 'd 
got  out  o'  the  house — and  then,  what  a  roarin'  ther 
vas  1  Parson  Potter  told  us  never  to  mention  it  in 


94  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

creation — cause  the  old  man  meant  well — ^but  some 
how  or  other  it  got  out — such  things  wiU^  you  know. 
But,  as  Deacon  Whipple  remarked — it 's  lamentjble 
that  any  body  in  this  free  and  inlightened  kintry 
should  be  so  blind  and  ignorant.  But  he 's  good 
enough  for  widder  Jinkins  any  daj^ — don't  you  say 
so?  "Well,  what  is  Wiggletown  a  comin'  tew?  Poll 
Jinkins  and  old  uncle  Dawson !  it 's  the  laffablest 
thing  I  Ve  heerd  on  this  many  a  day  I  he,  he,  he  I  J 
shall  go  ofifl  ! 

The  last  news  that  I  had  from  "Wiggletown,  was 
that  Melissa  is  soon  to  be  married  to  the  worthy  Mr. 
Jupiter  Smith;  and  that  Kier  is  engaged  to  Selina 
Crane.  It  is  supposed  that  the  widow  never  would 
•  have  given  her  consent  to  these  matches,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  interference  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Magwire, 
who  have  at  last  induced  her  to  give  up  her  opposi- 
tion to  the  wishes  of  her  children.  She,  however,  con- 
tinues to  growl  about  it  occasionally,  and  has  become 
perfectly  "  dizgusted'''  Avith  Wiggletown  and  every  body 
in  it,  declaring,  that  "  it  ain't  what  it  used  to  be — all 
run  down — not  fit  for  respectable  people  to  live  in — 
and  she  don't  mean  to  have  nothin'  to  dew  with  no- 
body in  a  place  where  every  body 's  atryin'  to  injure 
her,  and  put  her  down — and  so." 


X. 


^UE  ^A'idow  Bedott  having  resolved  to  leave 


\/igg]etown,  makes  her  farew^^ll  visit  to  her 
fric  ■  /l  Mrs.  niggins,  of  Ganderfield. 

"  Did  jQ  know  I  was  a  gwine  to  quit  Wiggletown  ? 
didcnt  haj  ?  Well  I  be — I  lay  out  to  go  next  week. 
I  am  gwine  to  Scrabble  Hill,  to  sister  Magwire's,  to 
b^end  the  winter,  at  least — and  if  I  like  it  purty  well, 
■jiRljhj  I  shall  conclude  to  make  it  my  native  place 
and  never  come  back  to  Wiggletown — without  't  is 
j'^et  a  visitin'.  Its  turrible  lonesome  to  be  keepin' 
house  all  alone  as  I  be  now  since  Kier  and  Melissy 
was  married  and  dewin'  for  themselves.  Ary  one 
an  'em  would  be  glad  to  have  me  live  with  'em 
— ^but  some  how  I  don't  like  the  idee.  Melissy 'a 
got  a  nice  man  for  a  husband.  Jubiter  Smith 's  a  very 
nice  man — and  she 's  very  pleasantly  sitiwated.  But 
I 'd  ruther  not  live  with  'em — shonldent  feel  inde- 
pendent, ye  know.  And  as  for  livin'  to  Kier's — I 
guess  it  '11  be  after  this^  any  how,  afore  I  dew  that. 
Seliny's  well  enough,  fur  as  I  know.    I  hain't  uotl-vin' 


96  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

against  Seliny — only  1  don't  like  tbat  stock.  I  was 
opposed  to  Kier's  marrjin'  into  that  family — but  he 
was  60  determined  on 't  I  gin  up  my  opposition  and 
tried  to  m.ake  the  best  on 't  But  I  can 't  be  intirely 
reconciled  to 't,  dew  what  I  will.  It 's  werry  onpleas- 
ant  to  be  connected  with  that  tribe  arv  way.  Especi- 
ally the  old  man — I  never  could  bear  Tim  Crane — 
he 's  so  mortal  mean.  Dident  know  it  ?  well,  tLo^, 
you  don't  know  him  as  well  as  I  dew.  Why,  I 've 
been  acquainted  with  him  ever  sence  he  was  quite  a 
young  man,  and  I  can  testify 't  he  was  ahvays  as  tight 
as  a  drum-head.  How  else  did  he  make  his  money, 
pray  ?  he  never  could  a  did  it  by  his  toits,  for  he  hain't 
none.  Yes — I  always  knowd  Tim  Crane — so  did  my 
poor  husband — he  used  to  have  dealins  with  him,  and 
he  said,  that  of  all  born  skin-flints 't  ever  he  had  to  do 
with,  Tim  Crane  was  the  biggest.  Yes — I  always 
dispised  the  critter — and  then  to  think  that  any  bo  "!y 
should  say 't  I  was  a  tryin'  to  ketch  him ! — 't  is  scan- 
dicilous!  Hain't  heerd  nobody  say  so?  Well  thir 
is  such  a  story  all  round  Wiggletown — and  I  gue&3 
I  know  who  started  it,  tew — and  that  was  old  Daw- 
son's wife — she 't  was  widder  Jinkins — ^she 's  always  a 
runnin'  me  down — and  she  feels  oncommon  ryled  up 
against  me  now  cause  she  knows  the  old  man  wra 
arter  me  'fore  he  took  her.  I  know  she  started  the 
Btory,  cause  Sam  Pendegrasses  wife  told  me  on 't — 
and  she  said  she  heerd  it  from  Minervy  Hawley — ar.d 


EESOLVES  TO  L^lAVE  WIGGLETOWN.  97 


MmerYY  Hawlej  heerd  it  from  Major  Coon's  wife — 
und  Major  Coon's  wife  and  Miss  Dawson  is  woDderfu^ 
intimit — and  I  s'pose  Miss  Dawson  told  Miss  Coon. 
But  wliat  she  says  ain't  worth  mindin'.  'T  is  curus 't 
lobodj  should  pay  any  attention  to 't.  Me  set  my 
sap  for  old  Crane !  Gracious !  I  never  could  hear  the 
Bight  of  him.  I  tell  you,  I  was  glad  enough  when  he 
got  married  to  Kesier  Winkle — ^though  H  was  a  most 
reedicilous  piece  o'  business,  wa'n't  it  ?  To  think  o' 
his  marryin'  that  foolish  flirt  of  a  gal !  young  enough 
to  be  his  darter,  tew  !  But  I  rejoiced  from  the  bottom 
o'  my  heart  when  it  took  place — for,  thinks  me,  folks  '11 
stop  ther  gab  about  him  and  me  now.  You  see,  he  •  d 
teen  stickin'  round  me  ever  sence  he  came  back  here 
— and  ther  was  considerable  talk  that  him  and  me 
was  a  gwine  to  make  a  match — and 't  was  very  dis- 
tressin'  to  me  to  be  the  subjick  of  such  a  report  I 
done  all  in  my  power  to  give  him  to  understand  that 
his  attentions  was  dizagreeable  tevf  me — but  somehow 
another  he  w^ouldent  take  the  hint.  I  dident  want 
him  to  offer  himself  tew  me,  you  know.  I  always 
make  it  a  pint  when  I  see 't  an  individdiwal's  pleased 
with  me  and  I  don't  recipperate  ther  sentiments — I 
say,  I  always  make  it  a  pint  to  disencourage  'em  all 
.  I  can — for  it  hurts  my  feelins  amazinly  to  be  obleeged 
to  refuse  a  man  ;  it 's  so  mortifyin'  tew  'em,  ye  know, 
to  be  told  tliey  ain't  wanted.  I  always  git  rid  on 't 
when  I  can — and  I  tried  tew  in  this  case — ^but  the  old 


98 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


coot  was  so  awful  numbheaded  I  couldent  beat  2iO.-- 
thin'  into  liim.  lie  liung  on  like  the  tootliaclic— til- 
I  got  out  of  all  patience.  At  last  he  come  t'  our  house 
one  evening — (Now  Miss  Higgins,  I  hope  you  won  i 
never  mention  this  to  nobodj^  I  shouldent  a  told  yc  u 
on 't — I  make  it  a  pint  never  to  tell  o'  such  thing-s. 
Only  seein'  we  was  a  speakin'  o'  the  story  bein'  round 
that  I  sot  my  cap  for  him,  I  thought  I 'd  let  you  know 
how  much  foundation  ther  was  for 't — but  don't  let  it 
git  no  furder  for  pity's  sake.  I  don't  wish  Mr.  Crane 
no  harm).  But  I  was  a  gwine  to  tell  3^e — He  took 
the  opportunity  one  night  when  I  was  alone,  to  come 
over  t'  our  house.  I  ginerally  contrived  to  keep 
Melissy  or  Keir  in  the  room  when  he  came  there ;  and 
I  'spose  he' d  noticed  it,  for  he  come  over  a  singin* 
school  evenin',  when  he  knowd  they 'd  be  gone.  I  tell 
ye  I  was  mad  when  I  see  the  critter  come  in.  I 
treated  him  as  cool  as  a  cowcumber ;  but  neverstandin' 
all  that,  if  you  '11  blove  it,  he  up  and  popped  the  ques- 
tion I  At  first  I  answered  him  as  civil  as  I  could,  and 
begged  to  be  egscused ;  but  he  wouldent  take  no  foi 
an  answer ;  and  so  I  was  obleeged  to  be  purty  hash 
with  him  and  told  him  I  dident  want  nothing  to  dew 
with  him,  and  wished  he 'd  reitterate  and  leave  me 
alone  and  never  trouble  me  no  more.  And  will  ye 
bleve  it  I  the  critter  continued  to  hang  on  till  I  was 
necessiated  to  order  him  out  o'  the  house  and  tell  him 
if  ever  he  darkened  my  doors  agin  he 'd  ketch  it.  So 


RESOLVES   TO  LEAVE   WIGGLETOWN.  99 


at  last  I  got  rid  of  liim ;  and  that tlie  upshot  o'  the 
matter  t)etwixt  old  Crane  ^nd  me.  'T  was  about  tew 
months  afore  he  was  married  to  Kesier  Winkle—aud 
disappinted  me,  as  tliej  say.  Disappinted!  it  looks 
like  beiio'  disappinted,  don't  it?  Its  awful  provokin' 
tc  be  talked  about  as  I  be,  ain't  it?  But  I 've  always 
beL  the  subjick  o  slander  ever  since  I  lived  bere,  and 
t'lat  ^s  since  I  was  quite  a  gal.  What  a  turrible  place 
for  tdkin*,  Wiggle  town  is,  tbougb !  a  regular  slander 
railj.  It's  2  great  deal  woss  than  it  used  be — and 
't  was  always  bad  enough.  I 'm  perfectly  dizgusted 
with  the  pliace,  expecially  sence  them  stories  about  old 
Cran  e  and  me.  It  makes  me  outrageous  to  be  lied 
about  so  by  such,  folks  as  old  Dawson's  wife  and  Miss 
Major  Coon.  Miss  Coon — sbe  don't  like  me  cause  I 
hain't  ne^  er  knuckled  tew  her.  You  know  she  thinks 
she 's  a  gieat  character  sence  she  married  Major  Coon. 
But  I  can  tell  her  "  I  ain't  so  fond  o*  pork  as  to  eat  hog 
yokes  I"  Miss  Pendergrass  says,  I  hadent  ought  to 
mind  none  o'  the  stories  folks  tells — and  I  don't  mean 
tew.  But  then  it 's  made  me  clear  sick  and  tired  o' 
Wiggletown.  I 'm  completely  dizgusted  with  it,  and 
don't  mean  to  li'vo  ti.ero  no  longer  if  I  can  help  it. 
I 've  ben  some  time  considerin'  what 's  best  to  dew, 
and  I 've  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  Scrabble  Hill  to 
spend  the  winter  with  sister  Magwire.  I  was  there 
and  stayed  a  fortnight  about  two  year  ago — had  a  very 
pleasant  visiL    At  first  I  thought  quite  strong  o'  vi^it 


100  WIDOW  BEDOTT   PAP  EES. 

in*  my  brotlier,  Christoplier  Columbus  Poole,  awaj  m 
Yarmount— never  was  there  but  once,  and  that  was 
fore  husband  died.  But  I  Ve  giv 't  up  on  account  o' 
the  family  bein'  Baptists.  I  can't  slan  the  Baptists  no 
way ;  and  if  I  went  there  I  should  have  to  go  to  the 
Baptist  meetin'  and  that  would  be  a  turrible  cross  tew 
me ;  so  I 've  concluded  to  go  to  Scrabble  Hill  for  a 
spell.  Sister  Magwire's  a  fine  woman^  thougli  she 
ain't  very  intellectible.  I  always  sot  a  great  deal  by 
her.  No  doubt  she  '11  be  wonderful  glad  to  have  me 
come.  She  must  be  considerable  lonesome  now.  Her 
only  son 's  gone  off  to  study  doctrin ;  and  she 's  ixlone 
quite  a  good  dcaL  Her  husband  carries  on  the  shoe- 
makin'  bisness  quite  extensive ;  and  he 's  to  his  shop 
the  heft  o'  the  time.  To  speak  the  truth,  I  ain't  sorry 
her  son 's  gone,  for  he  ain't  no  favoryte  o'  mine.  He 's 
growed  up  to  be  ruther  a  dizagreeable  young  man — 
always  pokin'  fun  at  every  body.  He  takes  after  his 
father  in  that  respect.  Brother  Magwire 's  quite  a 
teaze,  though  he  knows  better  'n  to  kurt  folk's  feelins 
as  Jeff  does.  I  think  I  shall  enjoy  myself  pretty 
well  at  Scrabble  Hill.  The  society  is  quite  refined 
there,  and  that  suits  me,  ye  know.  I  feel  out  o'  place 
in  Wiggletown :  ther  ain't  no  refinement  there  at  all. 
What  little  there  used  to  be 's  all  run  out.  The  in- 
habiters  now 's  a  perfect  set  o'  Goffs  and  Kandals, 
i 'm  thoroughly  dizgusted  vnlh  the  hull  town  and 
!;very  body  in  it,  exceptin'  Kicr  and  Molissy,  and  Sara 


RESOLVES  TO   LEAVE   WIGQLETOWN.  101 

Pendergrasses  wife.  If 't  wa'n't  that  they  live  there, 
Wiggletown  might  go  to  destruction  for  all  I'd 
care. 

LETTER  FROM   JEFFERSON  MAGUIRE  TO  HIS  COUSIN, 
MRS.  JASPER  DOOLITTLE. 

COOXTILLE,  Oct.  27,  1847. 

Dear  Cousin  Nancy: 

What  gloomy,  miserable  v/eather  this  is !  But  I 
suppose  that  your  domestic  cares  and  your  good  hus- 
band, occupy  so  much  of  your  attention,  that  yon 've 
iiardij^  time  to  growl  about  the  weather.  I  assure 
you  1  feel  forlorn  enough  to-day.  Probably  more  so, 
for  having  just  returned  from  a  visit  of  a  week  at 
father's ;  and  home  is  so  much  pleasanter  to  me  than 
any  other  place,  that  I  am  always  discontented  for  a 
while  after  coming  away. 

I  suppose  you  would  like  to  know  what  the  good 
folks  at  Scrabble  Hill  are  doing ;  so  I  '11  tell  you  as 
far  as  I  know.  Father  and  mother  get  on  about  after 
the  old  sort,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  great  change 
among  the  other  inhabitants.  Sam  Baily  is  paying 
attention  to  Katy  Carey,  and  Pardon  Hittibone  and 
Maria  Louisa  Wilson  are  to  be  married  next  month. 
Charity  Grimes  and  Sally  Hugle  are  as  old  and  as  dis- 
agreeable as  ever,  if  not  a  leetle  more  so,  and  full  as 
anxious  to  dispose  of  themselves  as  ever.    Old  Kkler 


102 


"WIDOW   B  E  T)  0  T  T  PAPERS. 


Sniffles,  the  Baptist  minister,  lost  his  wife  about  two 
months  ago,  and  his  jDersonal  appearance  has  greatly 
improved  since  that  afflictive  event  (no  uncommon 
thing  as  respects  widowers,  I  believe).  The  Footes  have 
sold  out,  and  gone  to  Wisconsin,  and — well  I  believe, 
you  have  now  all  the  village  news,  excepting  one 
piece  of  information,  and  that,  as  it  is  the  most  im- 
portant, I  have  reserved  till  the  last.  A  distinguished 
stranger  arrived  at  Scrabble  Hill  some  two  weeks 
since.  "Who  do  you  guess  it  is?  Why,  no  less  a 
personage  than  the  Widow  Bedott,  interesting  lelict 
of  Deacon  Hezekiah  Bedott.  She  has  actually  in- 
flicted herself  upon  father's  folks  for  the  whole  printer. 
What  a  time  they  '11  have  of  it,  won't  they  ?  Mother 
is  so  well  disposed,  that  she  tries  to  put  up  ;v^ith  it 
cheerfully ;  but  nevertheless,  it  is  pretty  evident  thai 
she  looks  upon  Aunt  Bedott  as  a  prodigious  bore. 
She  had  been  there  but  two  or  three  days  when  I 
went  home,  and  she  did  not  appear  overjoyed  to  see 
me.  For  some  reason  or  other  she  does  n't  take  a 
particular  fancy  to  me.  Mother  says  it 's  because  I 
teaze  her  sometimes.  But  there  is  something  so  de- 
cidedly rich  about  Aunt  Silly,  that  I  can  not  for  my  life 
help  having  a  little  fun  at  her  expense  occasionally. 
On  Sunday  morning  I  said  to  her,  when  mother  was  n't 
by,  *'Well,  aunty,  where  do  you  go  to  meeting  to- 
day ?"  Where  do  I  go  to  meetin' !"  said  she  "  what 
a  question  I  why,  where  should  I  go  but  to  my  own 


BE  SOLVES   TO   LEAVE    W  I  G  G  L  E  TO  W  N  .  103 


Tieetin'?"  "  Ob,"  said  1.  ''I  tlioiiglit  perhaps  yoi. 'd 
:ike  tc  liear  Elder  Sniffles,  lie 's  such  an  interesting 
preaoher."  "What!"  said  she,  "me  gc  to  the  Baptist 
meetin' !  1  hope  jou  ain't  in  arnest,  Jeff;  why  T 'd  as 
t'oon  go  tc-  the  theater  as  go  there  I  have  a  "  liTerin' 
contempt  for  the  Baptists.  Thej-  think  noboay  can't 
git  to  heaven  without  bein'  dipped,  dippin  s  a  sa^'in' 
audience  with  them.  Why,  come  to  think,  i  remem- 
bei  unat  Elder  Sniffles.  When  I  was  hei'e  afore,  ye~ 
ir»'  tner  and  me  was  in  to  Mr.  B[ngle'«.  ODt  evenin' — 
they  n  Baptists  ain't  they?  and  Elder  Sniffles 
and  his  wife  come  in  there  to  call.  If  my  memory 
serves  me,  he 's  ruther  a  tall,  scrawny  man  with  eyes 
that  looks  like  a  couple  o'  peeled  onions,  and  kind  o' 
squintin'  tew,  and  seems  to  me  he  hadn't  no  hair 
hardly."  "0!"said  I  "you'd  scarcely  kno./  him 
now,  he 's  got  a  wig  and  wears  spectacles,  which  im- 
proves his  appearance  vastly."  "  Well,  I  should  think 
it  needed  improvin',"  said  she. 

By  the  way,  aunty,"  said  I,  "  did  you  know  that 
Mrs.  Sniffles  was  dead?"  "You  don't  say  so!"  said 
she.  "  Yes,"  said  I :  "  she  died  only  a  few  weeks  ago. 
I  feel  sorry  for  the  elder — ^he  must  be  so  lonesome." 
"So  do  I,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh.  " It 's  a  dredful 
thing  to  lose  a  companion,  and  I  s'pose  the  Baptists 
feel  it  as  much  as  any  body."  "  Undoubtedly,"  said 
I ;  "  Elder  Sniffles  seems  deeply  afflicted — his  sermons, 
they  say  have  been  more  interesting  than  ever,  since 


i.t>4  f  I  i'  O  W   B  E  D  0  T  T  PAPERS. 

bis  Jo:^& .  sometlnng  rcournfuHy  solemn  about  theru." 
— so  I  v/ent  on  for  som^  time,  ii'.ating  upon  tlie  elder's 
eloquence  and  talents,  and  lonelmess  and  all  tliat,  ]  as- 
sure. J  :a  I  talked  pre  1^7  last,  for  fear  mother  'dcome  in 
be:orc  '  3onld  say  ill  I  wanted  to — and  I  was  afraid 
she 'd  throv^  ail  :he  fa^.  in  the  fire.  At  l^.ngth 
SiV.y  said  tnat  I 'd  raised  her  curiosity  '■■o  such  a  pitch 
that  she  really  felt  quite  a  desire  to  hear  the  elder  preach. 
— filie  had  a  gooa  notion  to  go  to  .he  Baptist  meet- 
ing for  once.  Of  course  I  offered  my  services  as  es- 
cort. Shoi-tly  after  mother  came  in,  and  was  i\mte  sur- 
prised when  Aunt  Bedott  announced  her  intention  of 
going  to  the  Baptist  meeting.  What 's  your  notion  ?" 
said  mother.  "Oh!"  said  aunty,  "Jeff's  excited  my 
curiosity  so  much  about  Elder  SnifSes,  that  I  feel  as 
if  i  d  like  to  go  and  hear  him  preach."  Mother  looked 
at  me  for  an  explanation — so  I  thought  my  best  couise 
was  to  own  up — for  I  knew  that  mother  would  n't  ex- 
pose me,  and  tell  Aunt  Bedott  that  I  was  hoaxi  jg 
her,  as  it  would  serve  to  increase  her  antipathy  to  me, 
which  mother  was  anxious  to  do  away.  Therefore  1 
remarked  that  I 'd  been  telling  aunt  Silly  what  m  elo- 
quent man  elder  Sniffles  was.  Mother  said  nothing 
then,  but  as  soon  as  we  were  alone,  she  took  me  to  cask 
roundly.  However  I  carried  the  point,  and  aunty  and 
I  went  off  to  the  Baptist  meeting.  We  had  a  seat  very 
near  the  pulpit.  As  usual,  the  elder  whaled  away 
through  his  nose — ^thumped  the  desk,  and  went  over 


KESOLVES   TO   LEAVE   WIGGLETOWN.  105 

and  over  again  witli  the  same  thing — "using  a  little  dif- 
ferent words  each  time,  without  ever  making  the  most 
remote  approach  to  any  thing  like  the  shadow  of  an 
idea.  But  it  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  with 
what  devout  and  earnest  attention  Aunt  Bedott  regard- 
ed him  all  the  time.  Once  she  was  deeply  affected, 
and  sobbed  in  a  manner  that  attracted  unh/ersal  atten- 
tion. It  was  on  his  making  the  very  original  observa- 
tion that  this  was  a  changing  world,  and  we  couldn't 
calculate  with  any  degree  of  certainty  upon  any 
thing !"  TVhen  we  were  going  home,  Aunt  Bedott 
said — "  Well,  Jefferson  you  was  right — elder  Sniffles 
is  a  very  interesting  preacher — very,  indeed.  I  never 
was  more  edified  in  my  life  than  I 've  been  this  morn- 
in'.  He  ain't  so  bad  looldn\  nother,  as  I  was  thinkin' 
he  was :  that  ere  wig  makes  him  look  ten  year  young- 
er— a  body  never 'd  think  o'  such  a  thing  as  its  bein' 
a  wig — ^it 's  so  natral.  And  them  specs,  too :  they  're 
an  improvement  on  account  o'  kind  o'  hidin'  the  pe- 
cooharities  of  his  eyes.  I  don't  know  as  I  should  a' 
took  him  for  the  same  indiwiddiwal.  But  then  his 
sarmon', — Oh,  Jefferson,  that  was  what  I  call  a  sar- 
mon  in  artiest !  I  begin  to  think 't  ain't  right  to  be  so 
preiudiceo  against  other  denominations.  I  should 
like  to  be  miroduced  to  Elder  Sniffles,  and  hear  him 
convarsc."  TVouldn''!  it  Tic\  Nancy,  to  be  an  in- 
visible hstener  to  the  conversation  ?    The  next  day  I 

came  away.    I  shall  be  quite  cuiious  to  know  whether 

6* 


106 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS 


Aunt  Bedott  continues  in  her  liberal  frame  of  mind — 
but  I  slia'n't  dare  to  ask  mother  a  word  about  it  when 
I  write — 60  I  must  remain  in  ignorance  until  I  go 
home  Qgain  at  Thanksgiving.  But  I 'm  writing  a 
tremendously  long  letter,  so  I  '11  just  stop  where  I  am. 
Eemember  me  to  cousin  Jasper,  and  believe  me  joujr 
affe^.tionate  cousin. 


XL 


1^  OOD  mornin'  marm !  can  I  trade  any  Avith  ye 
^  To-day?" 

**Laiido'  liberty!  I  want  to  know  if  tliat 's  you, 
Jabe  Clark?" 

"'T ain't  nobody  else — but  raly  you've  got  the 
advantage  o'  me." 

Hev  bay !  well  I  guess  it 's  the  fust  time  any  body 
got  the  advantage  o'  ye — do  ye  remember  them  shoes 
ye  sold  me  in  Wiggletown  ?" 

"Jingo!  I'll  be  darned  if 't ain't  the  Widder  Be- 
dott !  why — ye  look  younger  and  handsomer  'n 
ever — " 

"  It  took  them  shoes  to  stir  up  yer  memory — I  al- 
ways tho't  I 'd  like  to  hev  a  recknin'  with  ye  about 
comin'  such  a  trick  on  me — " 

"But  Widder—" 

"  None  o'  yer  buts — dident  ye  tell  me  they  was 
fustrate  leather — and  worth  ten  shiUin'  every  cent 
on 't — but  seein'  't  was  me  I  mout  hev  'em  for  a  dol- 
lar, sp,y  I  and  dident  they  bust  out  at  the  sides  and 


108 


WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


run  down  at  the  heels  and  split  on  the  instep  in  less 
than  a  week's  tune — and  dident  ye  know  they  would 
serve  me  so  when  ye  sold  'em  to  mn— say  ?" 
But  Widder  ye  know — " 
"  Yes  I  know — I  know  'v^a"ol  the  "fust  time  you 'd 
cheated  me — ^but  I  rather  guess  H>  was  the  last  time— 
and  I  ain't  the  only  one  that 's  rr.ade  np  ther  minds 
not  to  hev  no  more  deal  with  ye — Sam  Pendergrasses 
wife  says 't  if  ever  you  darken  her  door£  again  you  '11 
ketch  it." 

"  Well,  Miss  Bedott,  to  tell  ye  the  plain  <ruth,  them 
shoes  hev  laid  heavy  on  my  conscience  for  some  time 
back — I  dew  confess  with  compunction  that  I  had 
some  shortcomin's  in  those  daj^s — I  did  use  t'^  git  the 
better  o'  my  customers  sometimes  in  a  bargin — I  've 
felt  quite  exercised  about  it  lately.  Ye  see,  Widder, 
I  warn't  actiwated  by  religious  principles  then,  that 
was  the  difficulty.'* 

"  Do  ye  mean  to  insiniwate  that  ye 've  met  with  p. 
change?" 

"  I  think  I  may  confidentially  say  I  hev." 
"  How  long  sence  ?" 

"  Wal,  about  a  year  and  a  half.  I  experienced  re- 
ligion over  in  Yarmount,  at  one  o'  brother  Armstrong's 
protracted  meetin's.  I  tell  ye,  Widder,  them  special 
efforts  is  great  things — ever  sence  I  come  out  I 've  felt 
like  a  new  critter." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  Ve  acted  like  one,  and  restored 


TRADES   WITH   A  PEDDLER. 


109 


four-fold,  as  scriptex  commands,  to  tliem  you  Ve  got 
the  better  of.  If  3-0  did  I  guess  yei  poclvets  was 
cleaned  out  amazin'  quick." 

*'I'ni  free  to  saj^,  I  hev  made  restitution  as  far  as  1 
was  ablfe." 

Wei],  then,  ye 'd.  better  hand  over  that  ck>llar  I  paid 
for  them  shoes — or  at  least  six  shillin^  on 't,  they 
wa'p't  worth  over  twenty-five  cents  at  the  furdest." 

**Wal,  I'll  tell  ye  Widder  how  I  ginerally  dew  in 
Buch  cases.  I  make  a  practice  o'  lettin'  on  'em  trade 
it  out  ^he  begins  to  open  his  boxes),  I  Ve  got  a  lot  o' 
goods  that  '11  make  yer  eyes  water,  I  guess.  I  make 
it  a  pint  o'  carryin'  a  finer  stock  than  ary  other  travel- 
in'  merchant  in  this  section." 

"Yb  needent  undew  'em — I  hain't  no  notion  o' 
tradm'." 

"  But 't  won't  cost  nothin'  to  jest  look  at  'em,  ye 
know — there,  them  pocket  handkerchers  is  superior 
to  any  thing  ye  '11  find  this  side  o'  New  York." 
Wonderful  thin  though." 

"  Sheer,  ye  mean,  that 's  wkat  they  call  sheer,  a 
very  desirable  quality  iinning  cambrick.  I  tell  ye 
Widder  there  ain't  no  such  handkerchers  in  Scrabble 
Hill." 

"  I  '11  bet  a  cent  they  're  half  cotton." 

"Half  cotton  I  jingo  I  they  ain't  half  cotton — I'll 
stake  my  repertation  on 't — I  mean  my  present  reper- 
tition." 


no  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"What  dew  ye  ax  lor  'en  ?" 

"  Wal,  tliem  handkercher.?  had  orto  fetcli  twelve 
ehillin'  apiece.  T  never  sold  none  for  less,  hit  tein' 
as  I  didenv;  dew  exactly  the  fair  thing  about  the  shoes, 
if  ye '11  take  a  couple  I'll  strike  off  tew  shillin',  and 
let  ye  hev  '^ro  for  tew  dollars  and  se'^eniy-five 
cents." 

"Land  o'  liberty  I  3^0  scare  mC;  Jabe  I  T 'm  wantin' 
some  nice  handkerchers  wonderfidly  Jest  now^  but  deai 
me !  I 'd  go  without  to  the  eend  0'  my  days  a^br  j  I 'd 
pay  such  a  price  for  'em." 

"Wal,  then,  say  tew  dollars  fifty  cents,  I  'n  willm' 
to  let  'em  go  for  that  considerin'  the  shoes."  • 

"Twenty  shillin' !  it 's  awful  high,  I  won't  give  it." 

"Say  eighteen  shilhn'  then,  nobody  ;ould  ax  less 
than  that,  I 'm  sure." 

"Eighteen  shillin' I  it's  tew  much — I  can't  afford 
it." 

"  Tew  dollars  then — take  'em  lor  tew  dollars — it 's 
the  same  as  givin'  on  ' 3m  away,  I  tell  ye  Widder,  ye 
wouldent  git  such  a  chance  if 't  wa'n't  for  my  feelin's 
in  relation  to  them  shoes.  I  told  ye  they  was  worth 
twelve  shillin'  apiece,  and  now  I  offer  'em  tew  ye  for 
tew  dollars  a  pair,  one  dollar  struck  off,  that 's  all 
ye  paid  for  the  shoes.'^' 

"  I  never  gi'n  so  much  for  handkerchers  in  all 
"born  dayS;  can't  ye  take  no  less  ?" 

"  Not  a  cent  Widder,  not  a  cent." 


TRADES   WITH   A   PEDDLER.  Ill 

Well,  then,  I  don't  feel-  as  if  I  could  afford  to  take 
em." 

"  And  so  I  s'pose  I  may  as  well  put  'em  up  agin 
— wal,  I 'm  sorrj,  not  tliat  it  would  be  any  objict  to 
me  to  let  tliem  go  so  clieap,  only  I  thought  I 'd  like 
to  set  my  mind  at  rest  about  the  matter  o'  the  shoes. 
I 've  offered  to  make  it  up  and  you 've  refused  to 
have  it  made  up,  so  the  fault  is  yourn,  not  mine,  my 
conscience  is  clear ;  if  folks  will  persirt  in  stannin'  in 
their  own  light  I  can't  help  it,  that 's  all."  (He  re- 
places them  in  the  box.) 

"Lemme  jest  look  at  'em  once  more,  Jabe — these 
purty — caii't  take  no  less  than  tew  dollars?" 

"  Not  a  red  cent  less ;  and  I  tell  ye  agin  it 's  the 
same  as  givin'  on  'em  away  at  that." 

"Sure  they  ain't  half  cotton  ?" 

"Jest  as  sure  as  I  be  that  my  name 's  Jabez 
Clark." 

"  Well,  then,  I  guess  I  shall  hev  to  take  'em." 

"I 'm  glad  on 't  for  your  sake — as  I  said  afore,  t'  ain't 
no  objict  to  me.  I 've  got  a  piece  o'  silk  I  want  to 
show  ye.  Miss  Bedott,  a  very  desirable  article  for  a 
weddin'  dress." 

"  Lawful  sakes !  I  hope  ye  don't  think  /  want  such 
a  thing." 

*'Wal,  folks  tells  singular  stories.  I  heerd  some- 
thing down  here." 

0  shaw  1  't  vron't  dew  to  believe  all  ye  hear." 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


"  I  sold  Elder  Sniffles  a  black  satting  stock  and  a 
buzzom  pin  yesterday ;  s'pose  be  wanted  'em  for  a 
particJdar  occasion  P 

"  Git  out  Jabe '  v/bat  sort  of  a,  buzzom  pin  was  it  ?" 
Wal,  't  was  a  very  desirable  pin  ;  topiz  sot  in  gold. 
I  sold  it  tew  bim  for  a'most  notbing.  I  always  make 
it  a  pint  to  accommodate  tbe  clergy  in  tbat  way,  never 
cbarge  'em  full  price.  I  always  lookt  upon  tbe  Elder 
as  a  very  gifted  man — I  staid  bere  over  tbe  Sabbatb 
once  to  bear  bim  preacb — I  tell  ye,  Widder,  't  was 
powerful  pleadin'.  I 'm  rutber  inclined  to  tbe  Baptist 
order  myself — ben  quaverin'  on  tbe  subjict  ever  sence 
I  was  brougbt  out — in  fact  I 've  tbougbt  nard  o'  givin' 
up  tbe  travelin'  marcantile  business  and  studyin'  deol- 
ogy ;  but,  on  tbe  bull,  I've  about  gi'n  it  up — 'twould- 
ent  do  for  me  to  be  confined  to  preacbin' — my  bealtb 
requires  sucb  amount  of  exercise.  But  here 's  tbat 
silk,  did  ye  ever  see  tbe  beat  on 't  ?  now  tbat 's  wbat 
I  call  splendid — it's  ginniwine  Frencb — tbey  call  it 
'  grody  —  grody  —  grody '  —  wbat  tbe  dogs  —  tbem 
Frencb  names  is  so  consarnid  bard  to  remember — 0, 
I  know  now,  'grody  flewry;'  jest  take  a  realizin' 
sense  o'  tbe  colors — bow  elegant  tbem  stripes  is  shaded 
olF,  green  and  yaller  and  purple,  reglar  French  try- 
color,  as  tbey  call  it." 

"It 's  slazy  though,  ther  ain't  much  heft  to 't." 

"  Heft !  to  be  sure  't  aint  heavy,  but  heavy  silks 
am't  worn  no  more,  ye  know ;  they  're  all  out  o'  fash* 


TRADES   WITH   A  ±»EDDLEK.  113 

ion — ^these  ere  light  French  silks  is  all  tho  go  now — 
ye  see  folks  has  found  out  how  much  more  durable 
they  be  than  the  heavy  ones— them's  so  apt  to  crack 
—-why  one  o'  these  ere'li  outlast  a  dozen  on  "'em. 
I  've  got  jest  a  pattern  on  't  left — had  a  hull  pioco — 
sold  tew  dresses  off  on 't,  one  to  Judge  Hogobome's 
daughter  in  Greenbush,  and  the  other  to  the  Eeverend 
Dr.  Togo's  wife  in  Albany.  Now  Widder  what  do  ye 
say  to  takin'  that,  'twould  make  a  most  hyastical  wed- 
dio'  dress." 

Well,  'tam't  for  me  so  say  I 'm  wantin'  such  an 
aiticie — ^but  s'posen  I  was — I've  got  a  new  one  that  '11 
dew.  Sister  Magwire  pickt  it  out  for  me.  She  hain't 
got  much  taste  about  colors — but  she 's  a  good  judge 
of  quahty." 

Got  it  made  up  I" 

No ;  but  the  mant-maker's  a  comin'  to  morrer  to 
•.'iiake  it." 

"Lemme  see  it,  if  ye  piease.  I  want  to  compare  it 
with  this."  (She  brings  it.>  ''Jingo! — I '11  be  darn- 
ed if 't ain't  stun  color!  the  fag  end  of  a?^  colors! 
Why,  a  body 'd  think 't  was  some  sverlastin'  old  maid 
instid  of  a  handsome  young  widder  that  had  chose 
such  a  distressid  thing  for  a  weddin'  dress." 

'"Lawfui  sakesl  I  dident  say  'twas  a  weddin'  dress 
— and  I  dident  say  I  ^hose  it  myself :  for,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  didjnt  more  'n  half  like  it :  but  sister  Magwire 
stuck  to 't  was  more  suitable  than  ary  other  color— 


114 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


and  then  tc\v,  she  thought 't  vras  such  an  iimazin'  good 
pieco/' 

Good  piece  I    Jingo  !  what  did  ye  pay  for 't  ?" 
"  A  dollar  a  yard.    Ther 's  twelve  yards  on 't — got 
it     Prjker  and  Pettibone,  and  they  said 't  was  fast- 
rate." 

*'  Wal,  I  don't  s'pose  tJipy  meant  to  cheat  ye — thej^  got 
cheated  themselves  when  they  bought  that  silk.  I  al- 
ways know'd  that  Parker  and  Pettibone  wa'rn't  no 
judges  o'  goods.  The  fact  is,  them  New  York  mar- 
chants  puts  off  their  old  onsailable  articles  onto  'em, 
and  make  'em  think  they  're  ginteel  and  desirable.  I 
tell  ye,  Widder,  ye  got  most  consarnedly  took  in  when 
ye  bought  that  silk.  Ye  won't  wear  it  three  times  afore 
it  '11  crack  out  at  the  elbows,  and  fray  out  round  the 
bottom." 

"  Well,  I  hain't  ben  suited  with  it  none  o'  the  time 
— shouldent  a  got  it  if  sister  Magwire  hadent  a  ding- 
dong'd  me  into 't.  Ther  was  a  blue  one  ther 't  I  liked 
a  great  deal  better." 

I  tell  ye,  Widder,  it  raly  hurts  my  feelins  to  think 
o'  your  standin'  up  along  side  of  Elder  Snifiles  with 
such  a  consumid  lookin'  thing  on." 

"  O  shaw ! — stop  yer  hectorin'  about  the  Elder.  I 
ain't  obleeged  to  hev  every  body  that 's  after  me." 

"  "Wal,  I  know  that — only  such  chances  as  Elder 
Sniffles  ain't  to  be  sneezed  at,  ye  know.    But  speakin' 

that  silk — ^if 't  wa'n't  for  standin'  in  my  own  light 


TKADES   WITH   A   PEDDLER.  115 

SO  cousarnidly,  J  'II  bs  darnsd  if  I  wouldent  offer  to 
swop  for  a  small  matter  o'  boot." 

"  Boot !  that 's  wuss  tjian  the  shoes !  S'pose  I 'd  go 
CO  givin'  boot  to  git  rid  on 't  after  payiii'  an  awful 
sight  o"  money  for 't  in  the  fust  place  ?" 

"  Wal,  't  would  be  ruther  aggravatin'  if  you 'd  got 
a  full  pattern — you  hain't  but  twelve  yards.  Of  course 
ye  dident  calkilate  to  hev  no  trimmin',  or  ye 'd  a  got 
more." 

"  I  thought  I  shouldent  trim  it  considerin' — " 

"  Yes,  I  understand — considerin'  't  was  for  a  minis- 
ter's wife — " 

"  G-it  out,  Jabe — I  didont  say  so — " 

"  I  tell  ye,  Widder,  you  're  tew  partickler — ^minister's 
wives  is  as  dressy  as  any  body.  The  Eeverend  Doc- 
tor Fogo's  wife  had  hern  made  up  with  three  wide  cross- 
grained  pieces  round  the  skirt.  Jingo !  they  sot  it  off 
slick.  These  ere  stripid  silks  look  fust  rate  with  cross- 
grain  trimmin' — seems  to  go  windin'  round  and  round, 
and  looks  so  graceful  kinder.  I  seen  lots  on  'em  in  the 
city.  How  them  city  ladies  would  larf  at  such  a 
dress  as  yourn !  But  out  here  in  the  country  folks 
don^  know  nothin'." 

"  If  I 'd  a  trusted  to  my  own  taste,  I  shouldent  a 
got  it.  I  wish  to  massy  I  hadent  a  ben  governed  by 
sister  Mag  wire." 

"  Jingo  I  wouldent  it  be  quite  an  idee  for  you  to  be 
the  fiist  in  Scrabble  Hill  to  come  out  in  a  '  grody  flew 


116  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS 

ry.'  Them  colors  would  be  wonderful becoraiii'  to  you. 
Jest  lemme  hold  it  up  to  ye  and  you  stan'  up  and  look 
in  the  glass.  Jingo !  it 's  bccominer  than  I  thought 
't  would  be.  I  tell  ye  Widder,  jon  nust  hev  that  silk, 
.'ind  no  mistake." 

Dear  me  I  I  wish  I  could  afford  to  swop — What 
it  woth?" 

"  Wal,  I  can't  expect  to  git  the  full  vally  on 't.  I  '11 
sell  it  tew  ye  as  low  as  I  feel  as  if  I  could — it 's  a 
high-priced  silk — ^bein'  as  it 's  so  fashionable  now; 
but  I  '11  tell  you.  Miss  .Bedott — though  I  wouldent  tell 
every  body — the  fact  is,  I  got  that  silk  at  ?  baigin, 
and  of  course  I  can  afford  to  let  it  go  for  considerable 
less  than  I  could  if  I 'd  a  paid  fuil  price.  Ye  see  the 
marchant  I  took  it  of  was  on  the  pint  o'  failin',  and 
glad  to  sell  out  for  any  money.  He  dident  ax  but  a 
dollar  a  yard. — Ther 's  fourteen  yards  left,  as  you  can 
see  by  the  folds — and  you  may  hev  it  for  fourteen  dol- 
lars, jest  what  it  cost  me.  I  tell  ye,  widder,  it 's  a 
bargin." 

"  Land  o'  liberty !  fourteen  dollars  I  I  can't  think 
on 't." 

"Wal,  then,  I'll  dew  still  better  by  j'e.  I  want 
you  should  hev  this  silk — so  s'pozen  I  taice  yourn  off 
yer  hands,  and  you  take  this,  and  jest  pay  me  the  bal- 
ance. Mabby  I  could  sell  that  to  some  distressid  old 
quaker  woman  that  wants  an  every-day  frock— and 
what  if  couldent,  I  should  hev  the  csatisfacirlsix  o' 


stop  a  minute,  Jake,  I'll  resk  it.  It's  time  I  was  my  own  mistress  any  how.  I  knov; 
sister  Maguire'U  say  it's  tew  gay  for  me,  and  call  it  flambergasted,  but  I  dont  care.- 
PAGK  117. 


TRADES   WITH  A  PEDDLEE. 


117 


devvin'  you  a  favor  any  how. — What  d  'ye  say  to 
that  ?" 

Lemme  see — the  balance — that  would  be  tew  dol- 
lars. I 've  paid  twelve  for  t'  other  already.  I  don't 
know  about  spendin'  so  much  money — don't  know 
what  sister  Maguke 'd  say  to 't.  She 's  gone  over  to 
see  old  aunt  Betsy  Crocket — aunt  Betsey 's  sick.  Sis- 
ter Maguire  hates  striped  silk,  and  pedlars  tew — ^^von't 
never  trade  with  'em — " 

"Jingo!  come  to  think  on 't,  I'm  a  tarnal  goose  to 
be  willin'  to  stand  in  my  own  light  ■  ?s'  *br  the  sake  of 
accommodatin'  the  wimmin  folks — 't  ain't  no  object 
to  me."    (He  folds  up  the  silk.) 

"  Stop  a  minnit,  Jabe.  I  '11  resk  it.  It 's  time  I 
was  my  own  mistress,  any  how.  I  know  siatcr  Ma- 
guire '11  say  it 's  tew  gay  for  me,  and  call  it  flambergas- 
tedj  but  I  don't  care — " 

Gay  I    I  Avish  to  massy  she  could  see  a  dicst.  that 
Elder  Cole's  wife  out  east  has  got — entirely  red — the 
reddest  kind  o^  red  tew — stripes  as  wide  as  my  hand 
That  '5  ruther  flambergasted  for  a  minister's  wife.  So 
ye  think  yo  '11  take  it.  hey 

"  Dunno  but  I  will  on  the  hull." 

-  '  Wal,  I  s'pose  I 'd  orto  stan  to  my  ofi^er — but  I  tell 
ye,  Widder,  it 's  a  bargin." 
Fourteen  j^ards^  ye  say  * 

Fourteen  yards-  plump — ye  may  count  the  folds  at 
the  edge.    Ye  can  hev  cross-grain  trimrain'  if  ye  tako 


118 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


a  notion.  Jingo  !  won't  it  give  the  Scrabble  Hill  wim« 
min  fits  to  see  ye  witli  that  on  ?" 

"Well,  I'll  take  it.  See,  liow  mucli  do  I  oAc  ye 
now?" 

"  But  can't  I  sell  ye  any  tbin'  else  ?" 


XIL 


*'  J  SAY,  sister  Magwire — this  ere 's  a  miserable  mean 
kind  of  a  world,  for  I  Ve— " 
"  I  don't  agree  with  yon,  Sillj.  I  think  it 's  a  very- 
good  sort  of  a  world  if  a  body  looks  at  in  a  right 
point  o'  view.  Most  o'  folks  in  it  used  me  well,  and  I 
guess  the  J  '11  continner  to  dew  so  as  long  as  I  use  tJiem 
well.  For  my  part  I 'm  satisfied  with  the  world  gin- 
erally  speakin." 

'  ""Well,  s'pozen  ye  be,  that 's  no  sign 't  every  ])ody 
else  had  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  it.  You  was  al- 
ways a  wonderful  satisfied  critter.  You  think  every 
body 's  dretful  nice  and  dretful  clever." 

"  Now  sister  Bedott  you  know  that  ain't  so — yon 
know  ther 's  some  folks 't  I 've  got  a  turrible  mean 
opinion  of." 

I  know  ther  is  a  few 't  ye  don't  like — but  I  mean 
as  a  gineral  thing  you  seem  to  think  the  most  o'  folks 
is  jest  about  right.  For  my  part,  I 'd  ruther  see  things 


120 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


as  tliej  actillj  be.  I  sliouldent  want  to  be  so  awfm 
contented." 

"  I  should  think  so — ^for  you  ain't  never  contented 
only  when  you  've  got  some  thing  to  be  discontented 
about." 

"  Well,  if  that 's  the  case,  I 'd  ought  to  be  content- 
ed the  heft  o'  the  time,  for  my  trouble  is  continniwal." 

"  How  you  talk,  sister  Bedott !  I  thought  you  had- 
ent  nothing  to  complain  of  now-a-days.  I  know 't 
along  after  your  husband  died  you  wus  in  ruther  poor 
circumstances  and  used  to  grumble  a  good  deal — but 
seems  to  me  you 'd  ought  to  be  contented  and  thank- 
ful now.  Yer  children's  growd  up  to  be  blessins  tew 
ye,  and  now  they  're  both  settled  and  dewin  fast  rate. 
And  sence  father  was  took  away,  and  the  property 
was  dividec,  you 've  had  enough  to  keep  ye  comfort- 
able, and  more  tew." 

"  O  lawful  sakes !  I  dident  mean 't  I  was  poverty 
struck.  Ther 's  other  kinds  o'  tron.ble  besides  that — 
ain't  thar?  If  you 'd  a  ben  in  Wiggletown  durui'  the 
last  few  years,  and  seen  how  every  body  was  a  peckin' 
at  me,  and  a  tryin'  to  put  me  down,  you 'd  a  thought 
I  had  someilM  to  try  me.  You  wouldent  jaw  me  for 
thinkin'  tlie  world 's  a  dretful  mean  place — fall  o' 
dretful  queer  folks." 

"  0  dear  suz !  Some  folks  is  always  a  talkin*  about 
other  folks'  bein'  queer,  while,  like  enough,  it 's  them 
selves  that 's  queer,  after  all." 


DISCOURSE   ON   VARIOUS   TOPICS.  121 

.'^I  hope  ye  don'fc  mean  to  insinniwate 't  Ihn  queer, 
Melissj." 

"  0  no,  Silly.  I  dident  mean  to  insinniwate  that — 
but  then  ye  know  almost  every  body  has  ther  queer 
streaks." 

"  Yes — I  know  it 's  a  pecooliarity  natral  to  every 
body  to  be  queer  about  some  things — but  then  somo 
folks  is  queerer  'n  others." 

"Jest  so,  Silly — some  folks  is  actilly  queer — and 
some  folks  thinks  some  other  folks  queer  'cause  they 
don't  happen  to  think  jist  as  they  dew  on  some  pints. 
We  think  some  indiwiddiwals  is  queer  cause  they 
differ  from  us.  and  mabbe  they  think  vje  're  queer 
cause  we  differ  ftom  them.  We 'd  ought  to  be  earful 
how  we  call  other  folks  queer,  for  the  fact  is  we  're  all 
queer  more  or  less — and  them  that  lives  in  glass 
houses  mustent  throw  stuns." 

"  I  wa'n't  a  throwin'  stuns  as  I  know  on  when  I  said 
*t  was  a  queer  world — for 't  is — specially  that  part  on't 
called  "Wiggletown.  Scrabble  Hill  don't  seem  to  be 
such  a  sort  of  a  place  at  all,  as  fur  as  I 'm  able  to  judge. 
I  think  the  inhabbiters  is  quite  intellectible,  as  a  gin- 
eral  thing — and  oncommon  perlite,  tew.  I  m  quite 
pleased  with  the  Scrabble  Hill  folkt.  There 's  Dr. 
Lippincott — he 's  quite  a  science  man,  I  should  think, 
from  the  way  he  talks." 

"  Mabbe  he  is — can't  say — for  I  can't  understand 

much    what  he  says,  he  talks  so  big." 

6 


122 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


I  sliouldent  wonder  if  you  could ent — ^but  that  ain't 
no  sign  nobody  can't.  I  was  quite  pleased  with  him, 
and  his  wife,  tew — they  seemed  so  friendly — took  such 
an  interest  in  my  health,  and  was  so  consarned  about 
my  cough  that  night  they  called  on  me." 

"  Yes — I  guess  they 've  got  an  idee  your  a  rich  wid- 
der,  livin'  on  the  interest  o'  yer  money — husband  says 
ther 's  such  a  story  'round — shouldent  wonder  if  hus- 
band started  it  himself,  jist  to  see  what  w^ould  be  the 
effect  on 't." 

I  shouldent  nother,  he 's  so  full  o'  mischief — ^but 
you  don't  s'pose  that 's  what  makes  the  Peabodys,  and 
the  Buels,  and  the  Fusticks,  and  the  Hugles  so  peilite 
tew  me,  dew  ye  ?" 

O  I  ain't  no  rite  to  say  'tis — I 'm  sure  I 'm  glad 
they      so  attentive — it  '11  make  yer  visit  pleasanter." 

Jest  so — seems  to  me  Miss  Deacon  Fustick's  a 
sing'lar  woraan — she  seems  to  be  intirely  took  up  with 
the  '  anti-tea-and-coffee  society' — talked  to  me  all  the 
time  she  was  here  about  it — said  I  might  depend  on 't 
that  all  that  made  me  so  thin,  and  have  such  a  iough, 
was  drinkin'  tea  and  coffee.  If  she  runs  me  so  every 
time  I  see  her  I  guess  I  shall  keep  clear  on  her — for  1 
won't  gL\e  up  my  tea  and  coffee  for  her  nor  nobody 
else." 

"  0  If  \vful  sakes !  Ye  needent  be  afeard  o'  th  :it — 
she  '11 1  e  on  to  something  new  afore  long.  She  takes 
tip  every  thing  that  comes  along,  and  gits  all  engaged 


DISCOURSE   ON   VARIOUS  TOPICS.  123 

about  it.  A  spell  ago  slie  was  wide  awake  against 
Sabbath-breakin',  and  dident  talk  about  nothin'  else — 
then 't  was  moral  reform — next  come  Millerism — " 

"  Now  that  makes  me  think  of  old  mother  Green 
in  "Wiggletown.  You  remember  old  Jabe  Green 's 
wife ! — she  was  always  jest  so  carried  away  with  every 
new  thing,  ye  know.  Tew  or  three  years  ago,  when 
Millerism  was  makin'  such  a  noise,  ther  was  a  feller 
along  lecturin'  about  it — and  a  number  o'  the  Wiggle- 
town  folks  raly  thought  ther  was^something  in  it.  But 
old  Miss  Green  was  clear  killed  up  with  it.  She  give 
up  all  bizness,  and  dident  dew  nothin'  but  traipse 
round  from  house  to  house  a  takin'  on  about  the  eend 
o'  the  world — 't  was  a  comin'  afore  long.  Well — one 
day  she  come  into  Sam  Pendergrasses — 't  was  afore 
old  Miss  Pendergrass,  Sam's  mother,  died.  She  was 
a  livin'  with  'em — and  ye  know  she  was  a  woman 
that  always  minded  her  own  bizness.  Well — she  sot 
ther  at  her  loom  a  weavin'  away — she  was  a  great 
hand  to  weave,  the  old  lady  was.  Sam's  wife  was  a 
settin'  there  tew — 't  was  Sam's  wife  told  me  about  it. 
Well — Miss  Green  she  sot  down  in  the  rockin'  cheer, 
with  her  face  hal^  a  yard  long^  an  she  hauled  out  her 
snuff-box  (she  was  an  all-to-pieces  snuff-taker  ye  kr.ow) 
and  she  begun  to  snuff  and  rock,  and  rock  and  snuf^ 
as  hard  as  ever  shr^  could,  and  ever}  once  in  a  while 
she^d  heave  a  tunible  sythe.  Bymt-by  sa^s  she, 
*Miss  Pendergrass,  do  you  expect  to  finish  that  web  V  - 


124  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

'Well,  I  rather  guess  I  shall/  sajs  the  old  lady,  sajs 
she,  '  if  I  live.'  *  If  you  says  Miss  Green,  *  that 's 
the  pint — for  my  part  I 've  sot  my  house  in  order,  and 
I 'm  ready  to  go  any  minnit,  and  I  wish  you  could 
say  the  same.  It 's  raly  a  moloncoUy  sight  to  see  you 
so  occupied  with  the  consarns  o'  this  world  that 's  jest 
a  comin'  to  and  eend.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  set 
there  a  weavin'  a  piece  o'  cloth  vrhen  the  day  o'  the 
Lord 's  so  nigh  at  hand,*  and  she  took  a  normous  pinch 
o'  snuff,  and  gi'n  a  dretful  groan.  '  Well,'  says  old 
Miss  Pendergrass,  says  she,  *  I 'm  glad  you  feel  so  sar- 
tin  about  yer  condition — I 'd  as  lieve  the  Lord  would 
find  me  a  weavin'  cloth  as  a  iaJM  snuff  J  " 

"  Well,  that  was  a  good  un  I  It  ought  to  stopped 
the  old  woman's  mouth  and  sot  her  a  thinkin'.  Miss 
Fustick  is  some  such  a  woman  in  some  respects." 

"I  was  pleased  to  hear  Cappen  Smalley  take  up 
agin  her  in  favor  o'  tea  and  coffee,  t'  other  night,  in  to 
.Miss  Grimes's.  By  the  way,  Cappen  Smalley 's  quite 
an  inteUectible  man,  ain't  he  ?" 

"Why,  yes — he  knows  enough.  It  kind  o'  strikes 
cne  he 's  a  steppin'  up  to  Charity—  -seems  to  go  there 
considerable." 

"You  don't  I  Weil  ther 's  no  accountin'  for  tastes, 
I  dew  say.  I  should  a  took  the  cappen  for  a  man  o* 
better  judgment  than  to  be  pleased  with  such  a  critter. 
Don't  you  think  she 's  awful  dizagreeable  ?" 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  don't  admire  her  no  gr\?at." 


DISCOURSE   ON  VARIOUS  TOPICS.  125 


"  And  tlien  she 's  so  awful  Immblj  tew.  What  a 
draw  up  nose  she 's  got !  And  she 's  so  turribl j  af- 
fected and  stuck  up.  I  took  a  dislike  tew  her  the 
first  time  I  ever  see  her — when  she  come  in  here  wdth 
her  mother.  The  widder 's  a  skew-jawed  oncomforta- 
ble  lookin'  old  critter,  ain't  she?" 

"  Yes — and  no  wonder,  for  she 's  tew  stingy  to  feel 
comfortable;  and  of  course  she  can't  look  so.  You 
was  sayin',  a  spell  ago,  that  I  thought  every  body  was 
dretful  nice,  and  dretful  clever,  and  I  told  ye  ther  was 
some  folks  I  had  a  turrible  mean  opinion  of — well,  the 
"Widder  Grimes  is  one  on  'em — she 's  the  meanest 
woman  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  Is,  hay  I  Well  I  reckoned  whether  or  no  she  wa'n't 
when  I  seen  her." 

"  And  Charity 's  a  chip  o'  the  old  block.  They  git 
their  livin'  by  visitin'  and  borrerin'.  They  keep  that 
littlo  black  girl  o'  theirn  on  a  trot  the  heft  o'  the  time 
— ^runnin'  after  a  Utile  piece  o'  butter  here,  a  half  a  loaf 

bread  there,  and  a  little  o'  this  that  and  t'  other  in 
another  place — and  they  ain't  everlastin'  partickler 
about  payin'.  They  borrer  a  good  deal  o'  me,  and  I 
ginerally  let  'em  have  it.  'T  ain't  much  they  ax  for 
at  once,  and  I  hate  to  reiase  Y.^hen  I 've  got  it  in  the 
house.  They  send  every  few  days  for  a  slice  or  tew 
of  bread,  and  so  ii  goes  on  for  some  time — till  what 
they 've  got  amounts  to  mabbe,  half  a  dozen  loaveiS— 
aiid  then  the  little  nigger  comes  iri  with  a       o*  ^^road, 


126 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


and  says  slie,  'Missy  Grimes  sends  this  loaf  o'  bread 
and  wants  Missy  Magwire  to  take  off  what's  right 
The  last  time  she  sent  hum  bread  in  that  way — only 
a  few  days  ago — ^husband  was  in — I  took  the  loaf  and 
was  a  gwine  to  cut  off  a  piece  as  usual — but  husband 
laid  his  hand  on  my  arm,  and  says  he,  '  Stop,  Melissy 
— don't  you  cut  that — here,  Snowhalt^  take  it  hum 
and  tell  Miss  Grimes  't  wouldent  be  rtght  to  take  off 
none  on  V.'  I  don't  know  whether  they  took  the  hint 
- — time  '11  show.  But  I  got  rid  o'  ther  borrerin'  coffee 
the  slickest — or  ruther  husband  did — 't  was  his  dew 
ins.  They  used  to  send  about  once  a  week  aftei 
coffee — and  once  in  a  while  they 'd  send  hum  a  cup 
full,  ready  ground — and  of  all  things  !  such  miserable 
stuff  I  never  laid  my  mouth  tew !  't  was  as  black  as 
dirt.  I  biled  some  on 't  once  or  twice,  and  then  I  gin 
it  up — for  husband  nor  Jeff  wouldent  nary  one  on 
'em  touch  it — they  declared 't  wa'n't  nothin'  bu:  burnt 
bread-crusts.  At  last,  one  day  when  Miss  Grimes 
sent  hum  some  coffee,  husband  happened  to  be  in. 
After  the  nigger 'd  gone  he  says  to  me,  says  he,  *  Now, 
Melissy,  you  save  that  coffee,  and  the  next  time  Miss 
Grimes  sends  to  borrer,  jest  give  it  tew  her.'  Well, 
'twant  long  afore  they  sent  agin.  Dlanny  come  in 
with  her  cup  and  said  Missy  Grimes  had  company 
come  onoxpected,  and  hadent  no  coffee  burnt,  and 
wanted  to  git  a  little.  So  I  goes  to  tlie  cubbcrd  and 
fetches  out  the  same  old  stuff  and  gives  it  tew  her. 


DISCOtJKSE    ON   VARIOUS   TOPICS.  127 

I  tell  ye  I  felt  rutber  mean  wlien  I  gi'n  ^it  te^Y  her, 
but  tten  I 'd  promised  liusband^I  would,  and  besides. 
I  kind  o'  wanted  to  see  liow 't  would  operate.  That 
was  three  months  ago,  and  they  hain't  sent  for  coffee 
sence." 

"  Well  that  was  about  the  cutest  thing  I  ever  heerd 
o'  your  dewin,  Melissy.  You  sarved  'em  right.  But 
'  ain't  it  curus 't  Cappen  Smalley  should  be  pleased  with 
Charity  ?  wonder  if  he  knows  how  mean  they  be  ?" 

"  If  he  did 't  would  be  a  recommendation  tew  him." 

"What!  Cappen  Smalley  ain't  a  tight  man,  is  he?" 

"  Tight !  yes,  tight  as  the  skin  tew  his  back." 

"Well,  now,  I  am  beat  I  Why  how  oncommon 
good  and  ginerous  he  talked  t*  other  night,  when  he 
come  in  to  Parson  Tuttle  %  when  wo  was  there  to  t=ii 
— seemed  to  be  so  ingaged  in  every  menevolent  opera- 
tion.' 

"  Yes,  he 's  famous  for  wishin'  't  every  body  might 
be  warmed  and  clothed;  but  somehow  or  another  he 
never  hands  over.  Whenever  any  body  goes  tew  him 
with  a  subscription -paper,  he  always  seems  highly  de- 
lighted with  it — says  it 's  an  excellent  objick — an 
objick  he  feels  wonderfully  interested  in — he  Iocs 
hope  they  '11  succeed  in  raisin'  enough  for 't — 't  woula 
be  shameful  if  they  dident.  But  he 'd  ruther  not  put 
bis  name  down — he  has  an  aversion  to  makin'  a  dis- 
play— he  wishes  they'd  go  all  round  and-riisc  what 
^  '\ey  can.  and  S  they  don't  git  enough,  come  to  liim, 


128 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


and  he  '11  make  up  what  lacldri.  Somehow  or  another 
It  don't  often  happen 't  he 's  called  on  to  make  up 
what 's  lackin' :  when  he  is^  he 's  generally  missin'. 
Parson  Tattle  don't  seem  to  see  through  him  yet — he 
thinks  he 's  a  wonderful  charitable  man." 

"  Speakin'  o'  Parson  Tuttle — seems  to  me  he  ainH 
very  dc<yp-'' 

"  O,  Parson  Tuttle 's  considerable  of  a  man;  he's 
young  yet,  but  I  think  he 's  got  a  go6d  deal  o'  stami- 
ny  in  him.    He  '11  improve  as  he  grows  older." 

"  Well,  whether  he  improves  or  not,  it 's  my  opin- 
ion he  won't  never  be  able  to  hold  a  candle  to  Elder 
Sniff.3s." 

"  n-'-anf'ther  grievous  1  you  ain't  in  airnest.  Silly  ?" 
i  be  tew.    I  think  Elder  Sniffles  is  equil  to  Parson 
Potter." 

"  Well,  T  '11  give  it  up  now.  T  always  thought  the 
elder  was  ruther  of  a  dough-head." 

"Nothin*  but  prejudice,  Melissy — nothin'  in  the 
world  but  prejudice,  'cause  he  happens  to  belong  to  a 
different  seek  from  j^ourn — 't  ain't  right  to  be  so  set  in 
yer  way." 

"  Deary  me.  Silly  I  seems  to  me  you  're  got  to  be 
T  onderful  forbeann*,  lately;  3'ou  used  to  b"'aze  away 
about  the  Baptists  turrit T^." 

I  know  I  dident  use  to  like  'em  much,  but 't  was 
'caufift  J  dident  know  mucli  about  'em,  and  husband 
you  "enow,  couldent  Lear  'em.'' 


DISCOUKSE   ON   VARIOUS  TOPICS.  129 


"  "Well,  I  disremember  about  that :  but  I  dew  remem« 
her  liearin'  you  blow  liim  up  once  for  gwlne  to  Bap- 
tist meetin*." 

*'  "Well,  I  say  for 't,  your  memory wonderful  good 
— considerable  better  'n  mine.  Any  how — s'posen  a 
body  does  dislike-a  sartin  seek,  and  express  tber  senti- 
ments agin  'em — is  that  any  reason  why  they  should 
ent  be  open  to  conviction,  and  alter  ther  minds  con 
sarnin'  em  ?" 

To  be  sure  not — ^but  it  does  seem  queer  to  me 't 
you  should  be  so  eat  up  with  Elder  Sniffles,  when  you 
hain't  heerd  him  preach  but  once :  but  he 's  widdiwer 
now,  and  I  s'pose  that  makes  his  preachin'  a  good  deal 
interestiner.  Shouldent  wonder  if  you 'd  heerd  he 'd 
lost  his  wife,  afore  you  went  to  his  meetin' — hadent 
ye  ?  now,  Silly,  own  up." 

"  Melissy  Magwire  I  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you  mean  to'  insinniwate.  If  I  take  a  notion  to  go  to 
Baptist  meetin'  or  any  other  meetin',  I  got  a  right  to 
dew  it,  and  I  will  dew  it  as  much  as  I 'm  a  mind  tew, 
and  if  my  motives  is  impunged,  I  can't  help  it — that 's 
all." 

Enter  Mr,  Maguire — *'  "What  ye  jawin',  about,  now  V" 
*'We  wa'n't  a  jawin',  was  we,  sister  Bedott?  W0 

was  only  discussin'." 

"Cussin',  hey?  well,  then, 'what  was  ye  cussin 

about?" 

"  What  a  critter  you  be  to  misunderstand  I    I  did 
6* 


130  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

ent  say  cussin\  but  cZ/scussin'.  "We  was  discussin'  Eldei 
Sniffles — ye  know  Silly  tliinks  lie 's  something  super- 
natral." 

Haw !  Law  !  haw  1  what  if  Silly  should  git  to  be 
a  Baptist!  wouldent  it  be  a  joke,  though?  But  look 
here,  Silly,  you  must  be  earful  how  ye  set  yer  traps 
for  the  elder — it  rnight  be  dangerous  to  interfere  with 
Sally  Hugle's  pretensions.  Don't  ye  s'pose  wife,  that 
Sally ruther  a  squintin'  that  way  ?" 

Well,  I  shouldent  wonder  if  she  was ;  I  don't 
s'pose  she 'd  have  any  serus  objections  to  chaugin'  her 
condition.  That  are  piece  of  poitry  o'  hern,  that  cum 
out  in  the  paper  last  week,  looked  ruther  pinted^  did* 
ent  it?" 

"  What !  sister  Magwire,  you  don't  mean  to  say 't 
Sally  Hugle  writes  poitry?" 

"Lawful  sakes,  yes  1  she  writes  bushels  on 't — curus 
kind  o'  poitry,  tew.  Ther 's  some  on  't  comes  out  al- 
most every  week  in  the  '  Scrabble  Hill  Luminary.' 
She  signs  it  'Hugeliner.'  She  generally  calls  'em 
^  sunnets' — Jeff  says  they  ought  to  be  called  moonets, 
cause  they  're  always  full  o'  stuff  about  the  moon  and 
stars,  and  so  on.  She 's  alwayz  groanin'  away  about 
her  inward  griefs^  and  unlmown  miseries.  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  on 't.  Sally  Hugle  never  had  no  par- 
tickler  trouble  as  I  know  on — without  't  was  her  not 
bein  able  to  ketch  a  husband." 

*'  See,  wife — what  was  that  she  writ  on  the  death  of 


DISCOURSE   ON   VARIOUS   TOTICS.  181 


Elder  Sniffleses  wife  ?  can't  you  remember  some  on 't. 
[  thouglit  that  was  about  as  rich  as  any  thing  o'  hem 
[ 'd  seen." 

"  Lemme  see.  I 'm  sure  I 'd  ought  to  remember  it ; 
for  Jeff  had  it  over  all  the  time  for  about  a  week — 
lingin'  it  through  his  nose  to  the  tune  o'  '  Saint  Mar- 
uns' — that  goes  shakin'  up  and  down  ye  knov^,  kind  o' 
joUem.  Less  see — seems  to  me  this  was  the  way  it 
>ogun. — 

'  As  droops  tlie  pale  effulgent  flower, 
By  -vviutry  breezes  tried — 
So,  iu  an  onexpected  hour, 
Dear  MLsis  Sniffles  died.' 

r-nv  "vhat  comes  next?    Oh,  I  remember — 

'  No  more  lier  sorrowin'  pardner  hears 
The  voice  ho  loved  below — 
While  tears,  unmitigated  tears, 
Eeveal  his  bosom's  woe. 

In  that  respect  such  grief  as  hisen 

Is  different  from  my  own, 
"Which,  in  my  heart's  dark  mournful  priion, 

Lies  ransiin'  unbeknown 

"  Ther  s  more  on 't,  but  I  forgit  what 't  is." 
That 's  enough  anj'-  way,  wife — v/hat  do  ye  think 
on 't,  sister  Bedott — spose  ye  could  beat  it?" 

"  I  should  be  sorry  if  I  couldent — why  I  could 
make  better  poitry  'n  that  by  throwin'  an  inkstand  at 
a  sheet  o'  paper.  I  wonder  if  she  expects  the  elder  '11 
be  took  with  such  stuff.    If  he  is,  I 'm  mistaken." 

"  S'pose  you  take  hold,  tlien^  and  see  if  ye  caii^i 


182 


WIDOW   BEDOTT   PA  PEES. 


write  lier  down — would ent  it  be  a  capital  idee,  wilts, 
for  Silly  to  write  a  piece  o'  poitrj  to  the  elder,  and 
have  it  printed  in  the  *  Luminary.'  Come  on.  Silly — 
that  you  writ  on  Miss  Crane's  death  was  very  touchin\ 
though  it  dident  seem  to  touch  Mr.  Crane  much." 

"  Brother  Magwire,  !•  look  upon 't  as  an  insult,  to 
have'  old  Crane's  name  mentioned  in  my  hearin' — con- 
siderin'  all  the  lies  that 's  told  about  him  and  me,  and 
all  the  trouble  his  disagreeable  attentions  gin  me — and 
I  hope  in  futur  you  '11  keep  silent  on  that  onpleasant 
subjick." 

"  I  beg  yer  pardon,  sister  Bedott.  I  forgot  you  was 
so  sore  on  that  pint.  But  I 'm  in  amest  about  that 
poitry.  "Why  not  try,  and  see  if  you  can't  beat  '  Hu- 
geliner '  all  holler." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  're  changed  yer  mird  about  my 
poitry ;  you  used  to  turn  up  yer  nose  at  it." 

O,  well,  my  ta^te  improves  as  I  git  older.  I  ad- 
mire poitry  more  'n  1"  used  to." 

"  "Well,  I  '11  show  you  some  varses  1  writ  a  spell  ago 
on  the  Mexican  War — and  see  what  you  think  on 
*em  "  (She  goes  to  bring  them,  and  Mrs.  Maguire  re- 
marks— ) 

"Now,  Joshaway,  ain'^  you  ashamed  o'  yerselfl 
You 'd  ought  to  know  better  'n  to  go  to  puttin'  Silly 
up  to  writin'  poitry — ^first  we  know  she  '11  be  a  sendin' 
some  of  her  stuff  to  the  'Luminary,'  and  it  '11  make 
her  ridickUous,  and  us  tew." 


DISCOURSE   ON   VARIOUS  TOPICS. 


133 


*'  Don't  fret  your  gizzard,  Melissy.  Nobody  won't 
think  nothing  slie  does  is  ridickilons— for  ye  know  its 
ginerally  thought  she 's  a  rich  widder,  and  every  body  '11 
be  ready  to  swaller  her  poitrv — I  don't  care  if  it 's  the 
tamalest  mess  o'  stuff  thai  ever  was  put  togetl  /j^ 


XTli. 


^t  WM\i  IraWng  f^nrlJ  iM  (^M  Sniffles  is  BuX 
Miitts  to  |im. 

Dear  Eldee: 
T  DON'T  know  but  wliat  jou  '11  consider  it  ruther 

forrard  in  me  to  trouble  you  witli  this  epistol,  bein' 
as  I 'rae  a' most  a  strainger;  but  I  hope  youle  over- 
look my  appearent  want  of  judition,  and  attribit  this 
comnmnicaiiion  to  the  oncommon  interest  I  take  in 
your  welfare,  Sence  the  first  time  I  heerd  you  preach, 
I  Ve  ha(>  had  an  undescriberble  desire  to  hev  some 
privit  '.-onversation  with  you,  in  regard  to  the  state  o' 
my  mind — ^your  discourse  was  so  wonderful  searchin' 
that  I  felt  to  mourn  over  my  backslidden  state  o' 
stewpidity,  and  my  consarn  ha's  increased  every  time 
I 've  sot  under  the  droppin's  o'  your  sanctuery.  Last 
night  when  I  heerd  o'  your  sickness,  I  felt  wonderful 
overcome  ;  onable  to  conseal  my  aggitation,  I  retired 
to  my  chamber,  and  bust  into  a  flood  o'  tears.  I  felt 
for  you.  Elder  Sniffles — I  felt  for  you  I  was  won- 
derful exercised  in  view  of  your  lone  condition.  0, 
it 's  a  terrible  thing  to  be  alone  in  the  world  I  I  know 


WEITES   TO   ELDER   SNIFFLES.  135 

m 

all  about  it  by  experience,  for  I  've  ben  pardnerless 
for  nigh  twelve  year ;  it 's  a  tryin'  thing,  but  I  thought 
"t  was  better  to  be  alone  than  to  run  enny  resk — for 
you  know  it 's  runnin'  a  grate  resk  to  take  a  second 
companion,  espeshelly  if  they  ain't  decidedly  pious — 
and  them  that's  tried  to  perswade  me  to  change  my 
condition,  dident  none  on  'em  give  very  satisfactory 
evidence  of  pioty — 't  ain't  for  me  to  say  how  menny 
I 've  refused  on  account  o'  ther  want  o'  religion. 
Accordin'  to  my  notions,  riches  and  grander  ain't  to 
be  compaired  to  religion,  no  how  you  can  fix  it,  and 
I  always  told  'em  so.  But  I  was  a  tellin'  how  over- 
come I  was  when  I  heerd  o'  your  bein'  attackted  with 
influenzy.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  go  right  over  and  take 
care  of  you.  I  wouldent  desire  no  better  intertain 
ment  than  to  nuss  you  up,  and  if 't  wa'n't  for  the 
speech  o'  peeple,  I 'd  fly  to  your  relefe  instanter ;  but 
I  know 't  would  make  talk,  and  so  I  feel  necessiated  to 
stay  away.  But  I  felt  so  consarned  about  you,  that 
I  coujdent  help  writin'  these  few  lines  to  let  you  know 
how  anxious  I  be  on  your  account,  and  to  beg  o'  you 
t  y  take  care  o'  yerself.  elder,  do  be  careful — ^the 
influenzy 's  a  dangerous  epedemic  if  you  let  it  run  on 
without  attendin'  to  it  in  season.  Dc  be  kerful — con- 
sider what  a  terrible  thing 't  would  be  for  you  to  be 
took  away  in  the  haight  of  yer  usefulness ;  and  0, 
elder,  nobody  wouldent  feel  yer  loss  with  more  inton* 
«itude  than  what  I  should^  though  mebby  I  hadent 


136  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

oaght  to  say  so.  0,  Elder  Sniffles,  I  feel  as  if  1 
couldent  part  with  you,  no  how.  I  'me  so  interested 
in  your  preachin',  and  it 's  had  such  a  wonderful  at- 
tendency  to  subdew  my  prejudices  aginst  your  de- 
nomination, and  has  sot  me  a  considerin'  whether  or 
no  I  wa'n't  in  the  wrong.  O,  reverend  elder,  I  intreat 
you  to  take  case  o'  yer  preshus  helth.  I  send  you 
herewith  a  paper  o'  boneset,  you  must  make  some 
good  stiff  tea  out,  and  drink  about  a  quart  to-night 
afore  you  retire.  Molasses  and  vinegar's  a  goc»d 
thing  too  for  a  cold  or  coff ;  jest  take  about  a  pint  o' 
molasses  and  bile  it  down  with  a  teacup  of  vinegar 
and  a  hunk  o'  butter  as  big  as  a  hen's  egg,  and  stir  in 
about  a  half  a  teacup  full  of  pepper  sass,  and  eat  it 
down  hot  jest  afore  bedtime — and  take  a  strip  o' 
flannil,  and  rub  some  hog's  lard  on 't,  though  goose 
ile 's  about  as  good,  and  pin  it  round  yer  throte  right 
off;  and  I  send  likewise  a  bag  o'  hops ;  you  must  dip 
it  in  bilin'  vinegar,  and  lay  it  on  yer  chist  when  you 
go  to  bed,  and  keep  a  dippin'  on 't  as  fast  as  it  begins 
to  git  cool ;  and  jest  afore  you  git  into  bed,  soke  yer 
feet  in  bilin'  hot  water  with  some  red  peppers  in  it ; 
now  don't  forgit  nothin'  I 've  proscribed.  But  I  was 
a  tellin'  bow  exercised  I  felt  last  night  when  I  heard 
o'  your  sickness.  I  went  immejitly  to  my  chamber, 
and  gin  way  to  my  grefe  in  a  violent  flood  of  tears. 
I  retired  to  mj  couch  o'  repose,  but  my  aggitation 
perventod  my  sleepin'.   I  felt  quite  a  call  to  express 


WRITES  TO   ELDER  SNIFFLES.  13'J 


my  feelings  in  poitrj — I  'me  very  apt  to  wlien  enny 
thing  comes  over  me — so  I  riz  and  lifted  my  candle, 
and  composed  these  stanzys,  which  I  hope  will  be 
agreeable  to  you.  • 

O  reverend  sir,  I  do  declare, 

It  drives  me  a'  most  to  frenzy, 
To  think  o'  you  a  lyin'  there 

Down  sick  with  influenzy. 

A  "body 'd  a  thought  it  was  enough 

To  mourn  yer  wife's  departer, 
Without  such  trubble  as  this  'ere 

To  come  a  follerin'  arter. 

But  Bickness  and  affliction  is  trials  Ben  i 

By  the  will  o'  a  wise  creation, 
And  allways  ought  to  be  underwent 

With  fortytude  and  resignation. 

Then  mourn  not  for  yer  pardner's  deatb. 

But  to  submit  endevver ; 
For  s'posen  she  hadeut  a  died  bo  pnon^ 

She  couldent  a  lived  forever. 


0,  I  could  to  your  bedside  fly, 

And  wipe  yer  weepin'  eyes. 
And  try  my  best  to  cure  you  up, 

K  't  wouldent  create  surprise. 

It 's  a  world  o'  trial  we  tarry  in— 

But  elder,  don't  dispair ; 
That  you  may  soon  be  moviu'  a^in. 

Is  constantly  my  prayer. 

Both  sick  and  well,  you  may  depend 

Youle  never  be  forgot, 
By  your  faithful  and  affectionnff*  friend, 

Pkisoilla  INxtii  Betjott. 


P.  S.  My  nefew,  Jefferson  Magwire.  will  hand  you 
this  epistol.    I  should  be  wondTirful  Itappilied  to  7v> 


138 


T7ID0W   BEDOTT  PAPEllS. 


ceve  a  few  lines  from  you  wlien  you  git  able,  jest  to 
show  wlietlier  or  no  you  think  me  forrard  in  address- 
in'  you  in  this  manner.  P.  P.  B. 

P.  S.  lSo\Y  do  be  cerful  o'  yerself,  dear  elder — ex 
cuse  me  for  callin'  you  dear,  it  came  out  afore  I  was 
aware  on't — don't  fail  to  foller  my  directions,  espe- 
shelly  about  the  boneset ;  it 's  the  sovereinest  cure  in 
nater  for  influenzy — and  be  shure  to  soke  yer  feet  in 
the  hot  water  and  peppers — ther  ain't  nothin'  like  it 
to  fetch  down  information — and  bind  up  yer  throte  in 
the  iled  flannel — it  prev^ints  swellin' — and  I  wouldent 
have  you  forgit  to  ""ise  the  hop-bag,  for  nothin' — jest 
keep  a  pan  o'  hot  vinegar  on  top  o'  yer  stove,  and  dij) 
the  bag  in  it  about  once  in  ten  minnits,  all  night — 
it'll  give  you  such  a  good  night's  rest — hops  is 
shepyfyin'  3onimittin'  you  to  the  care  o'  creation, 
and  hopin'  youle  be  about  agin  in  a  few  days,  I  sine 
myself  v-ourn,  with  consarti, 

P.  P.  Bedoit. 

.'L  .ER  sniffles'  EEPLY. 

Most  Worths  Mrs.  Bedott: 

Your  comin  ijication  of  yesterday  was  duly  :e- 
ceived  at  ^;he  hand  of  your  nephew.  At  the  period 
of  its  reception,  I  vras  laboring  under  too  great  a 
Jv^ee  of  corporeal  prostration  to  dictate  an  immedi- 
ate r€5ix)nse.  But  at  present,  feeling  rny  physical  con- 


ELDER  sniffles'  REPLY. 


139 


dition  to  be,  to  some  extent,  ameliorated,  I  hasten  to 
respond.  Accept  mj  most  unqualified  acknowledg- 
ments for  the  interest  which  jou  apparently  take  in 
my  welfare — and  for  the  articles  which  you  so  kindly 
transmitted  by  your  nephew.  Permit  me,  also,  to 
assure  you  of  my  abundant  gratification  at  the  assur- 
ance that  my  unpretending  discourses  have  been  the 
feeble  instrument  of  exerting  a  salutary  influence  upon 
your  mind.  I  feel,  most  deeply  do  I  feel,  that  I  am 
but  a  poor  unworthy  worm  of  the  dust ;  and  it  serves 
but  to  augment  my  humiliation  to  reflect  that  my 
labors  in  the  field  have  been  so  signally  blessed.  Your 
remedies,  most  excellent  madam,  I  have  applied  in 
accordance  with  your  directions;  and  it  affords  me 
no  inconsiderable  satisfaction  to  be  able  to  say  that  I 
think  I  can  safely  affirm  that  their  effects  upon  my 
system  have  been  salubrious ;  and  I  can  but  indulge 
the  hope  that  they  will  tend  to  my  ultimate  restora- 
tion. I  must  not,  however,  omit  to  mention,  that  I  did 
Tiot  realize,  to  the  full  extent,  the  efficacy  of  the  hop- 
bag  ;  for  after  having  arisen  agreeably  to  your  direc- 
tions, some  five  or  six  times  (it  may  be  seven^  I  will 
not  venture  to  speak  positively  as  to  the  number)  and 
immersed  the  hop-bag  in  the  boiling  vinegar,  I  re 
gret  to  say  that  I  unintentionally  fell  into  a  state  oi 
unconsciousness,  from  which  I  unhappily  did  not 
awake  until  morning.  Owing  to  this  unfortunate  oc« 
currence,  I  probably  did  not  enjoy  the  refreshing 


140 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEES. 


repose  wliicli  a  constant  application  of  the  liot  hoj  • 
bag  would  Lave  afforded.  However,  notwitlistand- 
ing  this  unintentional  neglect,  I  am  happy  to  state 
that  the  virulence  of  my  attack  is  decidedly  abated. 

I  acknowledge  myself  deeply  indebted  for  the  poem 
which  accompanied  your  communication.  It  was 
truly  gratifying  to  my  feelings.  Your  remark  therein 
embodied,  that  *'we  tarry  in  a  world  of  trial,"  is  a 
very  just  one — very,  indeed.  This  is  incontrovertibly 
a  life  of  trials — of  disappointments  and  fluctuations, 
sent,  undoubtedly,  for  the  fortification  of  our  faith. 
It  will 'afford  me  most  unmitigated  pleasure  to  con- 
vese  with  you  privately,  in  regard  to  your  mind,  and 
to  give  you  such  instructions  upon  doctrinal  poin te- 
as may  be  necessary  and  conducive  to  your  spiritual 
edification.  With  that  view,  I  invite  you  to  call  at 
my  residence  on  Friday  evening  next,  when,  if  no 
unforeseen  contingencies  intervene  to  prevent,  and  ray 
corporeal  condition  continues  to  improve,  I  shall  be 
unoccupied  and  most  happy  to  attend  to  your  case, 
and  enlighten  3^ou  in  relation  to  such  inquiries  as  yon 
inay  be  pleased  to  propound. 

"With  sentiments  of  unmitigated  regard, 

I  remain  your  obliged  friend, 

0.  Shadrack  Sniffles. 


XIV. 


%\t  Wkto  ^xmxU  to  (&M  MM  for 
geligiou^  |n$trur.ti0iu 


"  iXTHEKE  you  gwine,  sister  Bedott?" 

"  Well,  I  thought  I 'd  go  to  Parson  Tuttle'a 
Friday  evenin'  lectur." 

"  Why  ther  ain't  none.  Don't  you  remember  Mr. 
Tuutle  said  last  Sunday  that  he 'd  got  to  be  away  to- 
day, and  the  lectur 'd  be  omitted  ?" 

*'0,  sure  enough — so  he  did.  But  come  to  think 
— don't  you  remembei  he  said  the  brethern  and  sisters 
might  meet  and  have  a  season  o'  prayer?" 

"0,  yes — he  did  says  so.  But  lawful  sakes !  .1  don't 
think  it  '3  very  edifyin'  to  go  set  a  hull  evenin'  and 
hear  Deacon  Fustick  and  Deacon  Peabody  and  old 
Parker  hold  forth." 

"  Nor  I  nother.  But  then  I  think  it 's  my  duty  to 
go  once  Id  a  while.  Ye  know  Scripter  saya  w(  mu^in't 
forsake  the  assemblin'  of  ourselves  together.  1  gness 
1 11  go  tew  night." 

(She  departs  and  proceeds  to  Elder  Sniffleo  rem- 
donee.) 


142  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

Good  evenin',  Elder  Sniffles.  You  see  I 'm  punc- 
table  to  the  time.  I  always  make  it  a  pint  to  be.  I 
tliink  punctabilitj 's  very  important." 

"A  very  just  remark,  Mra.  Bedott — it  is  so — and  J 
am  most  bappy  to  receive  you  this  evening." 

Well,  how 's  your  health  now  ?  Oonvalessin',  ] 
hope  V 

It  affords  me  the  most  unmitigated  satisfaction  tc 
be  able  to  state  that  my  corporeal  system  has,  in  a 
great  measure,  recovered  its  usual  tone.'' 

(With  much  fervor.)  "  O  how  thankful  I  be  to  hear 
you  say  so.  Elder  Sniffles.  You  can't  have  the  re 
motest  idee  o'  my  anxiety  on  your  account,  and  ho\^ 
delighted  I  feel  to  find  you  so  much  better,  and  J 
hope  you ' ve  recovered  yer  tone  so 's  to  be  able  to  sing 
agin.  It 's  1  great  blessin'  to  sing  when  a  body  has 
such  a  powerful  voice  as  3^ouTn.  I 've  obsarved  it  a 
Sabberdays  in  meetin'.  O  how  oneasy  I've  been 
about  you  when  I  thought  you  might  be  took  away, 
a^d  me  never  hear  you  preach  no  more.  I  felt  as  if  3 
couldent  submit  to 't  no  how.  'T  was  a  dretfal  sub- 
jick  o'  retrospection  to  think  o'  your  dessolucion.  I 
was  wonderful  glad  to  git  your  letter,  and  kno  v 't  you 
dident  think  I 'd  overtopt  the  bounds  of  propriety  in 
writin'  to  you.  I  was  so  afeared  you  would.  But  I 
felt  so  consarned  for  fear  you  wouldent  be  comfortabla 
and  have  such  ,jare  as  you'd  rught  tew — livin'  all 
alone  so — noboay  in  the  house  but  a  little  chore-gal— » 


RESORTS   TO   ELDER  SNIFFLES.  143 

and  what  does  she  know  about  taking  care  of  a  sick 
man?" 

"  0,  Sallj  does  very  well.  As  a  general  thing  she 
discharges  the  duties  devolving  upon  her  with  fidelity 
and—" 

''As  far  as  you  know,  undoubtedly — ^but  'taint 
likely  you  know  jest  how  things  goes  on.  I  never 
know'd  a  gal  o'  her  age  but  what  wanted  watchin' 
every  minnit.  You  can't  trust  'em  they  're  such 
highty-tighty  critters.  And  then  the  best  on  'em 
wants  a  head  to  oversee  'em  all  the  time — the  .very 
best  on  'em  can't  dew  for  you  as  a  pardner  would. 
0,  when  an  indiwiddiwal 's  sick  then 's  tht  t.'.me  they 
feel  the  want  of  a  companion,  and  ministers  is  apt 
to  git  sick,  ye  know." 

"A  very  just  remark,  ma'am — very  indeed.  ^:viX 
profession  is  arduous.  I  myself  am  the  subject  cf 
frequent  valetudinary  attacks — the  effects,  undoubt^rl- 
ly,  of  intense  application." 

"Jest  so.  I  remember  Parson  Potter,  our  miniSi/cr 
Ir?.  Wiggletown,  used  to  have  a  great  many  poor  turns, 
iispepshy-like — his  vittals  distresst  him." 

'  He  was  a  Presbyterian  clergyman,  I  si;pD0se." 

'  Y  es.  He  labored  in  Wiggletown  ten  years.  My 
husband  was  deacon  all  the  time  he  was  there.  T^ied 
abo  J.^  a  year  after  Parson  Potter  left  there  Husband 
used  to  have  such  attacks  as  yourn,  tew.  He  enjoyed 
n-iseracle  health  for  a  number  o'  year  afore  he  d;*jd 


144 


WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


ne  was  a  feeble  constitutioned  man.  I  s'pose  he 
Avouldent  a  lived  no  wher  nigh  as  long  as  lie  did  if  I 
hadent  a  ben  undefateeo^able  in  takin'  care  of  bim. 
0,  how  I  did  .watch  that  man!  For  six  or  seven 
fears  afore  his  dessolution  I  gl'n  up  my  hull  time  tew 
him.  The  neighbors  used  to  saj,  *  Miss  Bedott,  you  '11 
sartinly  wear  yerself  out  takin'  care  o'  the  deacon.' 
*  Well,'  saj^s  I,  *it  '11  be  in  a  good  cause  if  I  dew.  I 
consider  it  a  duty  and  a  privilege  to  devote  myself  to 
my  husband.  I  don't  want  no  better  occerpation.' 
And  'twas  a  wonderful  comfort  tew  me  after  his 
diaetitfe,  to  think  I  had  been  so  devoted.  0  elder, 
mine  war  a  dretful  loss!  I've  always  felt  as  if 
't-^ould  be  very  difficult  to  make  it  up  to  me.  My 
friends  has  wondered  at  me  for  continiwin  singlo 
?o  long,  "but,  as  I  obsarved  in  my  letter,  I  always 
told  'em  ■  was  a  very  resky  bisness  to  take  a  second 
paidner,  very  resky,  indeed.  Don't  you  think  so, 
elder?" 

'I  do,  indeed;  the  selection  of  a  consort,  eithe; 
L.ot  or  seeond,  is  a  matter  of  immense  importance^ 
and  involves  consequences  of  tremendous  magnitude. 
Iq  my  opinion,  it — " 

I  says  to  'em,  says  I,  when  they  was  a  teazin'  me 
to  git  married  agin,  I  says  to  'em,  says  I,  don't  speak 
on  \  don't — I 've  had  one  o'  best  o'  men  for  &  pard- 
ner,  aid  I  lived  in  the  greatest  conjugial  felicitude 
•wi'-h  him ;  and  that 's  the  reason  why  I 'm  so  pertick 


RESORTS   TO   ELDER  SNIFFLES.  145 

ler  now — ^piety 's  every  thing — don't  you  think  so, 
Elder  Sniffles?" 

"A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott — piety  is  every 
thing,  truly.  Your  late  consort  was,  undoubtedly,  a 
pious  individual;  though,  as  you  begin  to  perceive, 
being  a  Presbyterian,  he  must  necessarLiy  have  held 
some  views  which  undoubtedly  were — were — " 

*'Yes — husband  was  ruther  sot  in  his  way,  and 
that  \s  the  reason  why  I  never  got  inlightened  on  some 
pints — ^husband  always  thought  every  thing  Parson 
Potter  said  was  jest  right ;  and  Parson  Potter  was  a 
wonderful  prejudiced  man.  He  writ  a  couple  o'  sar- 
mons  aginst  the  Baptists,  and  had  'em  printed ;  and 
husband  used  to  read  'em  over  and  over  again.  Yes 
— 't  ain't  to  be  denied  that  husband  was  mistaken  on 
some  doctrinal  pints — my  mind  has  been  wonderfully 
exercised  about  it  lately." 

"I  should  judge  so  from  your  letter;  and  I  trust — " 

"Ever  sence  the  first  time  I  heerd  you  preach,  I'va 
felt  oneasy ;  I  says  to  my  nephew  Jefferson  Magwire 
— (je  know  he  went  with  me  to  the  meetin') — Jefl^ 
says  I,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  hear  Elder  Sniffles  convarse. 
You  see,  Jeff  had  been  a  tellin'  me  afore  we  went 
what  an  interestin'  preacher  you  was ;  but  I 'd  no  idee 
I  should  be  so  much  affected — mabby  you  obsarved 
I  was  quite  overcome  at  one  part  o'  the  discourse ; 
*t  was  when  you  dwelt  upon  the  changeable  natur  of 

arthly  happiness — ^the  onsartinty  of  every  thing — it 

7 


146  WIDOW   BEDOTT  TAPETIS. 

louclied  a  te.nder  pint.  I  thought  how  ii  applied  to 
inj  case — my  circumstances  is  so  changed — alone  in 
the  world — without  a  sjmpathizin'  buzzom  to  lean  on 
— nobodj-  to  take  any  pertickler  intrest  m  me."  [She 
covers  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  and  appears 
mucli  agitated.] 

"But,  Mrs.  Bedott,  in  this  mundane  sphere,  we 
should  endeavor  to  be  prepared  for  tlie  innumerable 
fluctuations  wbicli — " 

.  "  T 'm  aware  on 't,  Elder  Snififles — I 'm  intirely 
aware  o*  the  truth  o'  what  you  obsarve;  but  then  you 
know  an  indiwiddiwal  in  my  sittiwation  has  so  many 
onpleasat  things  to  incounter ;  if  they  're  ever  so  ker- 
ful,  folks  will  talk  and  say  they  're  a  gwine  to  change 
ther  condition — and  be  all  the  time  a  pickin'  out  this 
one  and  that  one  for  'em — when  they  hain't  no  more 
idee  o'  changin'  ther  condition  than  they  have  o'  flyin'. 
And  then  ther 's  another  dretful  trial  we  have  to  un- 
dergo ;  dew  what  we  will,  we  can't  git  red  o'  the  im- 
partinent  attentions  o'  the  men  folks.  If  we  're  ever 
so  stiff  and  haughty  tew  'em,  they  won't  seem  to  mind 
it  a  speck ;  they  will  keep  a  makin'  up  tew  us — and 
you've  no  idee  how  dizagreeable  'tis — 'twas  the  prin- 
cipal cause  o'  my  leavin'  "Wiggletown.  As  long  as 
my  son  and  darter  was  with  me,  I  felt  as  if 't  was  my 
duty  to  stay  there — ^but  when  they  got  married  and 
left  me,  it  seemed  as  if  I  couldent  stan'  it  no  longer — 
not  .that  I 've  got  anything  to  say  against  tb  indi 


RESORTS   TO   ELDER   SNIFFLES.  147 

vridiwals  tliat  was  pleased  with  me — 't  wa'n't  their  fault 
that  I  wa'n't  suited  with  ary  one  on  'em ;  but  't  was 
very  onpleasant  to  be  the  objick  o'  their  preference, 
when  I  couldent  recipperate  none  o'  ther  feelins — and 
was  detarmined  never  to  unite  my  destination  to  a  per- 
son that  w^as  destitue  o'  religion.  'T  was  a  tryin'  siti- 
wation  to  be  placad  in :  but  dear  me !  it 's  awful  tryin' 
to  be  without  a  companion,  as  I  remarked  in  some 
stanzys  I  was  a  writin'  't  other  day. 

"What  sittiwation  can  be  wuss 

Than  not  to  have  nobody  to  care  for  us! 

Riches  and  honors  that  most  folks  prize, 

Ain't  of  no  vally  in  my  eyes 

In  comparison  with  a  congenial  heart, 

In  all  our  consarns  to  take  a  part ; 

To  recipperate  all  our  buzzom's  emotions. 

And  to  take  the  lead  in  our  daily  devotions. 

"  Ain't  them  your  sentiments,  elder 

"  They  are  so,  Mrs.  Bedott ;  the  society  of  a  conge- 
nial spirit  is  truly  desirable.  In  particular,  I  considei 
congeniality  of  sentiments  to  be  indispensable  as  re- 
gards religious  opinions ;  and  as  you  have  expressed  a 
desire  to  receive  some  instructions  relating  to  doctrinal 
points — " 

"  Yes,  I  have  felt  very  much  exercised  lately.  I 've 
felt  to  deplore  my  lukewarmness  and  want  o'  zeal, 
but  especially  I 've  felt  to  mourn  over  my  former  prej- 
udices against  your  seek :  but  you  see  I 've  always  ben 
placed  under  onfortinate  circumstences — circumstencea 
that 's  had  an  attendency  to  exart  an  onfavorable  in 


148  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

fluence  on  my  religious  faitli ;  and  it  actiJly  seems  af; 
if  the  hand  o'  Providence  was  in  my  comin'  here  to 
Scrabble  Hill,  instid  o'  concludin'  to  go  to  Varmount 
to  my  brother,  Christopher  Columbus  Poole's.  Thej 
wanted  I  should  come  there,  but  somehow  another  I 
felt  a  loud  call  to  come  here.  I  speak  on 't  m  o^nother 
stanzy  o' the  same  poem  I  illuded  tew  jest  now.  I 
says,  says  I — 

Yes,  sartm  there  was  a  providence  in  it, 
And  I  shall  always  'bless  the  minnit 
That  fixed  my  choice  on  Scrabble  Hill, 
Instid  o'  the  town  o'  Buttonville — 

S'posen  I 'd  a  went  to  Buttonville,  and  stayed  all  win- 
ter, instid  o'  comin'  here — how  different  my  circum- 
stences  would  a  ben.  0,  Elder  Sniffles,  what  a  privi- 
lege 'tis  to  set  Sabberday  after  Sabberday  under  your 
preachin',  and  to  be  permitted  to  come  to  yer  house 
and  injoy  the  benefit  o'  hearin'  you  convarse  on  relig- 
ious subjicks.  I  dew  feel  as  if  I  couldent  be  thankful 
enough.  The  day  you  was  t'  our  house  to  dinner,  I 
was  wonderfully  interested  in  yer  conversation.  I 
s'pose  you  obsarved  I  was  ruther  tackciturn  most  o' 
the  time — 't  was  cause  I  felt  under  considerable  con- 
straint. Sister  Magwire  and  her  husband  is  very  well 
meanin'  folks,  but  they  're  dretful  narrer  minded  and 
sot  in  ther  way.  I  don't  never  feel  free  to  express  my 
mind  afore  'em  as  I 'd  like  tew — ^you  know  a  body 
can't  when  they  're  so  sittiwated — " 


RESORTS  TO   ELDER  SNIFFLES.  149 

*' Exactly — a  very  just  remark — in  order  to  enjoy 
the  entire  benefit  of  intellectual  or  religious  discourse, 
a-n  individual  must  be  wholly  unrestrained.  The  pre- 
sent occasion,  therefore,  is  one  suited  to — " 

"Yes,  felt  so  gratified  when  I  got  your  letter  and  m- 
vitation  to  come  round  here  to-night.  0,  thinks  me, 
whal  a  blessid  privilege 't  is — I  dew  hope  I  'predate 
it — but  0,  elder,  elder,  what  if  it  should  git  out  that  I 
come  here  alone,  and  in  the  eveninM  What  ivould 
some  folks  say  ?  You  know  ther 's  so  many  that 's 
ready  to  ketch  up  every  little  thing,  and  make  the 
most  on 't.  Gracious  sakes  ahve  !  what  sJiould  I  dew 
if  the  story  should  get  round  that  I  was  settin'  my  cap 
for  you !  and  I  know 't  would  if  Sally  Hugle  should 
find  out  I  come  here  to-night — they  say  she 's  a  dret- 
ful  meddlin'  critter,  and  I 'm  sure  she  don't  feel  none 
o'  the  frenhest  to  me  ;  I  s'pose  it 's  cause  I  hain't  shew- 
ed no  great  anxiety  to  cultivate  her  society.  The  fact 
is  the  minnit  I  first  set  my  eyes  on  her,  I  made  up  m}' 
mind  she  wa'n't  a  person  I  cared  about  havin'  for  an 
intimit :  her  countenance  is  so  dizagreeable.  I  should 
know  she  had  an  onpleasant  disposition;  thinks  me 
she 's  got  grit  and  no  mistake.  Brother  Magwire  sajs 
he  should  pity  any  man  that  would  be  draw'd  in  by 
her,  cause  she 's  so  lazy.  They  say  vvhen  she  ain't  a 
spinnin'  street  yarn,  she  don't  dew  nothin'  but  write 
poitry ;  her  mother  and  sister  Polly  has  the  hull  heft 
o'  the  housekeepin'  on  their  shoulders.    Now  I  say 


150  WIDOW   J3ED0TT  PAPERS. 

tlier  ain't  no  need  o'  neglectin'  yer  duties  to  write  poi* 
try :  for  I 've  writ  a  siglit  on 't  in  my  day — enougli,  I 
slionld  say,  to  fill  a  busliel  basket — and  nobody  can't 
say 't  I  ever  allowed  it  to  interfere  with  my  domestic 
consarns.  A  body  can  write  poitry  and  be  inaustrons 
tew.  And  massy  on  me !  sucli  poitry  as  liern !  did 
yon.  ever  ! — but 't  ain't  for  me  to  crittycise  other  folkses 
writin's,  nor  I  don't  want  to  say  nothin'  deroggery  to 
Sally  Hugle — only  I  dew  hope  she  never  '11  find  out 
about  my  comin'  here.  0,  Elder  SnifSes,  I 'm  a  lone 
woman ;  ther  ain't  nobodj^  to  stan'  up  for  my  rights, 
if  the  voice  o'  slander  should  be  raised  aginst  me." 
[She  weeps.] 

"  Be  calm,  Mrs.  Bedott — [he  approaches  and  sits 
down  beside  her] — permit  me  to  assure  you  that  your 
apprehensions  are  utterly  groundless.  You  are  quite 
too  sensitive — quite.  It  is  no  unusual  circumstance  for 
individuals  of  your  sex  to  resort  to  me  for  religious 
instruction  and  private  conversation  in  regard  to  the 
state  of  their  minds." 

Does  Sally  Hugle  ever  come  for  private  conversa- 
tion?" 

"I  believe — indeed  it  strikes  me  that  Miss  Hugle 
has  done  so  once  or  twice." 

^'  0,  Elder  Sniffles,  beware  of  that  critter.  Depend 
on 't 't  aint  for  the  sake  o'  gittia  instruction  she  comes. 
It 's  jist  for  to  insiniwate  herself  into  your  fivor — and 
juiigin'  from  what  I've  seen  and  heerd  of  her,  1 


KESOEXS   TO   ELDER  SNIFFLES.  151 

ehouldent  wisli  my  worst  inDemy  a  greater  cusa 
than  to  git  her  for  a  pardner.  Old  maids  always 
makes  miserable  wives — and  of  all  things,  to  think  o' 
such  a  person  as  Sally  Hugle  bein'  united  to  a  man 
like  Elder  SnifQes !  A  man  that  ought  to  have  the 
very  salt  of  the  arth  for  a  companion.  0,  its  awful ! 
'T  would  put  an  eend  to  your  usefulness,  depend  on 't." 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  dear  madam.  Your  f  jars 
are  unfounded.  The  interest  which  you  take  in  my 
welfare  touches  me  deeply.  If  the  period  should  ever 
arrive  when  I  shall  deem  it  essential  to  select  a  second 
consort,  believe  me,  I  shall — " 

''O,  Elder  Sniffles !" 
I  shall  proceed  with  the  utmost  caution  and  pru- 
dence." 

[A  hurried  knock  is  heard  at  the  door.] 

"  There !  some  body 's  a  comin'.    I  must  go." 

"Well,  allow  me  to  entreat  you  to  lay  aside  all  ap- 
prehensions, and  resort  to  me  whenever  you  wish  to 
unburden  your  mind,  or  receive  religious  instruction." 

"  I 'm  very  much  obleeged  to  ye,  Elder  Sniflaes,  very 
much,  indeed.  I  feel  as  if  your  conversation  this 
evenin'  had  done  me  a  great  deal  o'  good.'- 


P]E  here,  Aunt  Bedott,  hereV  another  poem  bj 


Hugelina." 

"Is,  hej?  Wliat's  slie  groan?n'  about  now?  be- 
witclied  to  die  yet?" 

'No — it  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  a  lament  occasioned 
by  Elder  Sniffles's  sickness." 

*'  You  don't !  now  what  a  bare-faced  critter  she  is 
to  come  right  out  so  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  all  creation 
— ain't  it  astonishin'  ?  She 's  purty  late  in  the  day 
tew  with  her  lamentin' — the  elder's  got  aboui  agin — 
preached  last  Sabberday." 

"  Yes :  but  you  know  he  was  laid  up  Sunday  1  before 
last — and  I  suppose  they  dident  get  the  poetry  i-  time 
to  bring  it  out  last  week." 

Well  dew  read  it,  for  pity's  sake — wajit  U 
what  the  critter  says." 


O,  lyre  of  mine,  divulge  dliy  saddest  strain 
In  mclanclioly  thunder-tones  of  woe ! 

In  gloomiest  accents  deep  of  quivering  pain, 
Thy  mournful  numhers  on  the  midnight  throw' 
A  direful  theme  demands  thy  anguished  flow : 


SONNET. 


COKCLUDES  TO  PUBLISH. 


153 


for  sighing  on  his  lonely  couch  of  grief, 
Truth's  champion  languisheth  without  relief! 

Yon  vacant,  voiceless  desk  proclaims  aloud 
The  absence  of  his  eloquential  tongue. 

Which  held  in  wondering  chains  the  admiring  crowd, 
And  carried  conviction  hoth  to  old  and  young. 

The  arduous  duties  of  his  sacred  calling 

Have  caused  this  casuallity  appalling, 
V'hile  in  dark  weeds  of  crape  my  wailing  lyre  is  hung  I 

HUGEUXA. 

Well  now,  if  that  don't  beat  all  I  did  you  ever  seo 
any  thing  so  redickilous  in  all  your  born  days  ?  you 
may  talk  as  much  as  you  're  a  mind  tew  about  *  hidden 
meanin'-.'  I  believe  if  there 's  any  meanin'  at  all  in  a 
thing  it  '11  show  out  some  wher — and  for  my  part,  I 
can't  see  a  speck  nor  grain  o'  sense  in  that  are  piece. 
"What  on  arth  does  the  simpleton  mean  by  blazin 
away  so  about  her  '  liar'  and  its  '  thunder  tones'  and 
*  mournin'  weeds,'  and  all  that?  I  should  think  Elder 
Sniffles  would  feel  insulted  by  such  a  mess  o'  stufc— 
shouldent  you  ?" 

"  0,  no,  I  dare  say  he  '11  consider  it  quite  compli- 
mentary ;  don't  you  see  she  talks  about  his  eloquence 
— drawing  admiring  crowds,  and  so  forth  ?  I  guess 
she  means  to  catch  the  elder  if  she  can ;  any  how  she 
seems  to  be  making  a  dead  se ^  at  him,  and  I  should 
wonder  if  she  should  succeed." 

"Well,  if  Sal  Hugle  ketches  Elder  Sniffles  with 
such  trash  as  that,  I  '11  give  it  up  that 's  all ;  but  I 
don't  bleve  she  will  •  he  ain't  so  big  a  fool  as  to  have 
the  woo]  drawd  over  his  eyes  in  that  way," 

7* 


154 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


"  But  jou  know  she  may  possess  other  attractions 
besides  her  poetical  talents." 

Other  attractions !  goodj  grievous !  I  wonder  what 
they  be  I  Of  all  created  critters  she 's  the  dizagree- 
abisTit  I  ever  see,  and  so  awfully  humbly  I  shouldent 
thml'  she  30uld  feel  comfortable.  I  guess  she  s  one 
o'  them  :hat  s  tew  humbly  to  relish  ther  vittals.  But 
for  all  tha%  I  bleve  she  thinks  she 's  quite  handsome. 
What  a  way  she's  got  o'  fixin'  her  hair — them  great 
long  stringlets  a  danglin'  down  her  cheeks — ^her  phiz- 
mahogany's  narrer  enough  without  'em,  I 'm  sure.  I 
met  her  yisterday  as  I  was  gwine  to  the  store,  and 
't  was  as  much  as  I  could  dew  to  keep  from  b".stin' 
right  out. a  laughin' in  her  face.  She  had  on  that 
are  everlastin'  red  hood  that  shows  the  hull  o'  her 
face,  and  her  curls  was  a  streamin'  down  over  the 
corners  of  her  mouth,  so 't  a  body 'd  a  ben  pestered 
to  tell  how  far  round  it  went ;  and  she  was  a  salin' 
along  like  goose  in  a  mud  puddle,  wich  her  great 
eyes  a  s'arin'  straight  at  nothin'.  She 's  got  a  way  o' 
lookin*  as  if  she  was  gazin'  into  futewrity." 

'^That's  a  mark  of  genius,  you  know— a  sign 
that  she  lives  in  the  shadowy  regions  of  imagina- 
tion—" 

^'  Shaddery  fiddle-stick?" 
She  was  probably  composing  a  sonnet  when  you 
met  her." 

"  Shoudent  wonder  if  she  was- she  looked  ii 


CONCLUDES   TO  TUBLISH. 


155 


she  was  occupied  witli  sometbin'  despirit.  Well,  if  I 
couldent  make  out  better  'n  slie  does,  I 'd  hang  up  my 
fiddle— that 's  all !" 

"Well,  aunty,  why  don't  you  write  some  poetry 
for  the  'Luminary?'  come,  suppose  you  try  your 
aand  at  it — you  're  great  on  poetry." 

"  O,  I  don't  feel  willin'  to  make  myself  so  con- 
ipiciwus." 

''0  fudge!  that's  nonsense — every  one  ought  to  be 
willing  to  exercise  their  gift,  you  know." 

"  Well,  it  does  look  reasonable,  but  your  mar  always 
discourages  me  about  w^ritin'  poitry." 

''What  of  that?  father  and  I  don't,  and  I'm  sure 
we  re  quite  as  competent  judges  as  mother  is.  Come 
now,  if  you  '11  write  a  piece  of  poetry  I  '11  take  it  tc 
the  '  Luminary'  to-morrow  before  I  go  back  to  Coon- 
ville.  I  know  you  can  beat  Hugelina.  Mother 
need  n't  know  any  thing  about  it  till  it  comes  out,  and 
then  she  can't  help  herself" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  I  will.  I  've  got  a 
piece  begun  that  I  think 's  about  a?  good  as  any  thin' 
I  Ve  writ  in  some  time.  Mabby  I  '11  finish  that  off 
and  send  it." 

"What's  the  subject?" 

"  Well,  it  treats  o'  the  onsartainty  o'  terrestrious 
things.  'T  was  occasioned  by  a  remark  in  the  first 
sarmon  I  ever  heard  Elder  Snifiles  preach.  You  know 


156 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


he  spoke  o'  our  bein'  onable  to  calkilate  with  any 
degree  o'  sartaintj." 

*'  O  yes,  I  reraember  it  very  well ;  that  would  be  a 
lirst-rate  subject  to  write  upon." 

begin  by  alludin'  to  the  elder's  sarmon,  and 
tlien  I  goes  on  to  testify  to  the  truth  on 't  by  showin' 
how  diffikilt  't  is  to  make  any  kind  o'  calkilation 
about  any  thing,  bein'  as  all  things  of  a  transiterry 
natur  is  so  onsartin.  But  I  '11  go  get  it  and  show  it 
tew  ye,  and  then  you  can  see  for  yourseK  Here 't  is." 
(Jeff  reads  it.) 

"  That's  capital,  Aunt  Silly.  Send  it  by  all  means. 
I  '11  copy  it  off  in  a  larger  hand,  so  that  it  can  be  read 
more  easily.  And  what  shall  we  call  it?  Suppose 
we  entitle  it    Can't  Calculate." 

"  "Well,  I  should  think  that  would  be  very  appro- 
briate." 

"  On  second  thoughts,  I  guess  we  '11  j  ust  call  it '  K.  K.' 
— ^that  stands  for  'can't  calculate,'  you  know — and 
there  '11  be  something  striking  and  original  about  it, 
too." 

"  Jest  so.  Well,  you  may  fix  it  out  as  you  're  a 
mind  to — ^but  I  '11  take  it  and  add  on  a  few  moro 
stanzys  first." 

"  0  no,  you  need  n't,  it 's  plenty  long  enough — they 
don't  hk:e  to  print  long  articles." 

"Don't,  hey  ?  Well,  it  seems  as  if 't  wa'n't  hardly  long 
enough  to  pay  a  body  for  the  trouble  o'  readin'  on 't " 


CONCLUDES  TO  PUBLISH. 


157 


"  Yes  it  is.  It  is  n't  so  much  the  length  of  a  poem 
as  the  excellence  of  it  that  folks  look  at,  yon  know." 

"  ^ell,  I  ilon't  know  but  you  're  right,  though  I 
remember  how 't  Zebidee  Higgins  used  to  write  very 
long  pieces.  He  writ  a  good  deal  for  the  '  Wiggle- 
town  Banner,'  and  when  Minarvy  Pike  died  he  writ 
a  piece  on  her  death,  and  had  it  printed  alone  by  itself 
on  a  big  sheet  o'  paper,  and  sold  'em  for  a  shillin' 
apiece.  Ther  was  risin'  a**  hundred  varses  on't.  I 
remember  when  he  was  a  carryin'  'em  around,  to  sell, 
he  come  t'  our  house,  and  husband  bought  one. 
When  he  see  how  long 't  was,  he  says,  says  he  to  Zeb, 
*  Why,  Zebidee,  what  was  yer  object  in  havin'  on't 
so  long?'  Sa3^s  Zeb,  says  he,  'Don't  ye  s'pose  I 
wanted  folks  should  git  the  worth  o'  their  money  ?' 
But  as  I  don't  charge  nothin'  for  this  ere,  't  ain't  so 
much  matter  about  its  length,  I  s'pose.    There,  yer 

mar 's  a  comin',  stick  it  away  for  pity's  sake." 

*  *  *  -x-  it 

[Messrs.  Gamble  and  Spratt,  editors  of  the  "  Scrab- 
ble Hill  Luminary,"  discuss  the  merits  of  the  widc7/'a 
poem.] 

"See  here,  Gamble.  What  d'ye  think  I  that 
hatchcb-faced  old  woman  down  at  Magnire's  has  ssnt 
us  a  piece  o'  poetry." 

"  The  dogs  she  has !  Well,  I  swow  I  am  beat  now. 
She  looks  as  little  like  the  votary  of  the  muses  as  any 
body  I  ever  saw.    What  for  T)oetrv  ia  it  ?" 


158 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


'11  be  bound  if  I  know  what  to  make  of  it,  arid 
so  I  told  Jeff  Maguire,  who  handed  it  in  just  now. 
Jeff  sajs  she 's  quite  an  eccentric  character,  and  I 
should  think  so  by  this.  I  don't  know  what 's  best  to 
do  about  it."    [Gamble  reads  it.] 

''Dupiter!  that's  rich,  ain't  it?*' 

''Don't  exactly  like  to  reject  it — don't  want  to  mako 
her  mad — thf^y  say  she 's  rich  as  mud — livin'  on  the 
interest  of  her  money.  What  shall  we  do  with  the 
thundering  stuff?" 

"  Wh}',  print  it,  to  be  sure.  I  '11  write  a  puff  for  it. 
I 'm  great  on  editorials,  you  know." 

*'Are  you  in  earnest,  Gamble?" 

"  Certainly  I  am.  I  think  there 's  more  sense  in  it 
than  there  is  in  Miss  Hugle's  poetry,  and  you  never 
hesitate  at  all  about  accepting  any  thing  from  her." 

"  But  hers  sounds  big,  you  know,  and  half  the  folks 
in  the  world  thinks  that 's  poetry  whether  ther 's  any 
sense  in  it  or  not." 

"I  know  it,  but  Hugelina'  is  the  only  poetical  con- 
TTibutor  we  have,  and  she 's  almost  worn  out.  I  'v9 
puffed  her  and  puffed  her  till  I  am  almost  tired  of  the 
business.  I  should  like  a  change.  There 's  som.ething 
decidedly  new  about  this.  You  leave  it  to  me,  I  '11 
manage  it.  I  confess  you  're  greater  on  politics,  and 
&o  forth,  than  I  am,  but  it  takes  me  to  do  up  the  fine 
arts." 

Jeff  seemed  to  be  sorry  not  to  find  you  in  when 


CONCLUDES  TO  PUBLISH. 


159 


he  came.  I  suppose  he  saw  tliat  I  hesitated  a  little 
about  taking  it,  and  he  knew  you  would  n't — jou  're 
both  of  you  up  to  all  sorts  of  deviltry — ^but  he  looked 
as  serious  as  a  parson.  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  know 
whether  he  was  in  earnest  about  wisliing  us  to  publish 
this  plaguy  stuff  or  not." 

"In  earnest?  of  course  he  was.  If  he  wasn't.  I 
am.  I  never  interfere  with  jour  department,  and  you 
ought  not  to  with  mine.  My  voice  is  for  the  old  gal 
— so,  hurra  for  the  '  Editor's  comments.'  " 

It  affords  us  the  most  indubitable  pleasure  to  be 
able  to  enrich  our  '  Poet's  Corner'  of  this  week's  Lumi- 
nary with  a  gem  from  the  pen  of  a  new  contributor. 
The  extreme  simplicity  of  the  diction  presents  a  strik- 
ing contrast  to  the  more  highly  wrought  and  elabo- 
rate style  of  our  own  gifted  '  Hugelina,'  and  strongly 
reminds  one  of  the  effusions  of  the  early  masters  of 
Enerlish  poesy,  when  the  muse  was  in  her  pristine 
puiity.  All  worshipers  of  the  truthful — the  pure — 
the  earnest  and  the  unadorned  in  poetry,  will  rejoice 
with  us  that  a  brighter  day  appears  about  to  dawn 
upon  our  poetical  horizon,  and  that  the  time  is  proba 
'  bly  not  far  distant  when  nature  shall  assert  her  suprem- 
acy over  art  in  the  dominions  of  the  muse.  We 
hope  to  hear  oftec  from  our  fair  correspondent." 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


K.  K. — can't  calculate. 

What  poor  short-sighted  worms  we  bo— 

For  we  can't  calculate 
With  any  sort  of  sartintee, 

What  is  to  be  our  lute. 

These  words  Prissilla's  heart  did  reaoh 
And  caused  her  tears  to  flow, 

When  first  she  heard  the  elder  preach 
About  six  mouths  ago. 

How  true  it  is  what  he  did  state, 

And  thus  affected  her, 
That  nobody  can't  calculate 

What  is  a  gwine  to  occur. 

When  we  retire,  can't  calculate 

But  what  afore  the  morn 
Our  housen  will  conflaggerate 

And  we  be  left  forlorn. 

Can't  calculate  when  we  come  in 

From  ary  neighborin'  place. 
Whether  we  '11  ever  go  out  agin 

To  look  on  natur's  face. 

Can't  calculate  upon  the  weather, 
It  always  changes  so ; 
'  Hain't  got  no  means  of  telling  whotJs«? 
It 's  gwine  tg  rain  or  snow. 

Can't  calculate  with  no  precision 
On  naught  beneath  the  sky ; 

And  80  I 've  come  to  the  decision, 
That 't  ain't  worth  while  to  try. 


XVI. 


"  j^AY,  sister  Mag  wire,  can't  you  spend  time  jest  to 
come  liere  a  minnit  and  look  at  my  caps.  I 
want  to  ax  you  which  I 'd  better  wear  to-day.  I  don't 
want  to  wear  it  to  meetin',  cause  my  bunnit  would 
jam  it  all  down — but  I  want  to  make  up  my  mind 
aforeband  about  it  so 's  not  to  lose  no  time  v/ben  I 
git  bum.  Come  quick,  dew — tbe  bell  '11  ring  in  a 
rainnit.  O,  here  ye  be ;  well,  now  tell,  wbicb  o'  these 
caps  is  the  becominest." 

"  Why,  you  We  got  a  regiment  on  'em  seems  to  me." 

"  Yes ;  I 'm  well  on 't  for  caps — ^but  the  half  on  'em 
was  giv'  tew  me.  Here 's  one,  though,  't  I  made  my- 
self. I  wore  it  to  Kier's  weddin'.  How  does  it 
look  ?"    (She  puts  it  on.) 

"Somehow,  I  don't  like  that  much — it  sticks  up  tew 
high  on  top :  and  then  them  j^aller  bows  looks  so 
kind  o'  dann\  and  then  them  red  artifishels  is  ruther 
extensive,   I  reckon  you  look  better  without  artifishels." 

"  Well,  lemme  try  on  this  ere ;  Melissy  gin  it  tew 
rae.    I  always  thought 't  was  quite  becomin'." 


162 


WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


"  Well,  I  don't  agree  with  ve,  Silly.  I  think  there 's 
tew  much  ribbin  on 't — pink  ribbin  tew ;  don't  you 
think  pink  ribbin 's  a'most  tew  young  for  you?" 

*'  O,  dretfnl  snz,  Melissy  !  what  foolish  idees  you  Ve 
got ! — jou  're  always  a  takin'  me  to  dew  about  dressin' 
tew  young.  What 's  the  use  o'  makin'  an  old  woman 
o'  myself  afore  I  he  one?  But  come  to  think,  this 
would  be  ruther  dressy  for  to-day,  seein'  the  minister 's 
a  comin'.  See  'f  ye  like  this  ere  any  better — 't  was  a 
present  from  Sam  FendergTasses  wife,  not  long  afore 
I  come  away.    I  never  wore  it  but  once/' 

"  Well  I  reckon  that  looks  woss  than  the  pink  one 
-  -blue  makes  you  look  kind  o'  squawy  ;  you  're  rather 
dark  complected ;  and  blue 's  a  tryin  color  for  dark 
skins." 

''Well,  I  never  thought  I  was  so  wonderful  dark 
complected,  I 'm  sure.  I  wonder  if  this  one  '11  suit 
ye  any  better.  Kier's  w^ife  gin  it  tew  me.  I  hain't 
never  wore  it  at  all ;  thought  I  shouldent,  'cause  it 's 
so  turrible  old-womanish  and  quakery.  I  fetcht  it 
along,  cause  I  thought  mabby  Seliny 'd  be  mad  if  I 
dident — but  I  don't  see  what  on  arth  she  meant  by 
givin'  me  such  a  lookin'  thing." 

"  ]N'ow,  Silty,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  talk  so  —for 
my  part,  I  like  that  better  'n  ary  one  you 've  tried  on 
That  are  white  satin  trimmin'  looks  so  kind  o'  neat 
and  plain.  It 's  a  purty  shape  tew — comes  dov/n  fur- 
der  'n  the  others  onto  yer  face — and  that 's  an  im 


THANKSGIVING  DAY. 


163 


provemeut,  bein'  as  jou  're  rutlier  long- favored.  I 'd 
■vvear  that  bj  all  means,  Silly." 

"  You  would ! — well  now  I  am  beat — why  ther  ain't 
a  color  about  it  but  white." 

"  All  the  better  for  that ;  it 's  enough  ginteeler  'n 
them  flambergasted  blue  and  yaller  things  ;  and  then 
the  elder 's  a  comin',  ye  know." 

''Jest  so ;  well  I  guess  I  will  wear  it  considerin' — '' 

"And  yer  black  silk  gownd  and  muslin  under- 
handkercher — jom  look  best  in  them  of  any  thing 
you  Ve  got." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  I  vrill — murder! 
there 's  the  bell,  and  I  hain't  begun  to  be  ready ;  never 
mind,  I  won't  dress  till  I  git  hum ;  this  ere  allipacker 
looks  well  enough  to  wear  to  meetin'.  I  '11  jest  throw 
on  my  mankiller  and  bunnit — 't  won't  take  me  long ; 
wish  you  could  go  Melissy — ^but  I  know  ye  can't  and 
git  dinner  tew ;  the  elder 's  a  gwine  to  preach  in  your 
meetin'-house,  hey? — well,  that  looks  brotherly  ;  Bap- 
tists preach  in  your  meetin'-house  one  year — and  your 
minister  preach  in  theirn  the  next — I  like  the  idee. 
Is  my  bunnit  on  strait?  This  glass  makes  me  look 
kind  o'  skew-jawed — never  know  whether  my  things 
ic  in  decent  order  and  reglar  rotation  or  not,  when  I 
git  'em  on.  Hov^  does  this  ere  scarf  go?  Where 's 
brother  Magwire  and  Jeff,  I  wonder?  How  thought- 
fal 't  was  in  Jeff  to  ax  the  elder  here  to  dinner — ^he 'd 
a  ben  so  lonesome  to  hum  all  alone.    Melissv,  I  begin 


164  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

to  liave  considerable  hopes  o'  Jefl:— shouldeLt  wonder 
if  lie  should  turn  out  quite  a  stiddy  man  after  all. 
Here  they  come." 

"  Elder  Sniffles,  let  me  give  you  another  piece  o'  the 
turkey." 

"  I 'm  obleeged  to  you,  Mr.  Maguire ;  you  probably 
recollect  that  I  remarked  in  my  discourse  this  morn- 
ing, that  individuals  were  too  prone  to  indulge  in  an 
excessive  indulgence  in  creature  comforts  on  thanks* 
giving  occasions.  In  view  of  the  lamentable  fact  that 
the  sin  of  gormandizing  is  carried  to  a  sinful  excess 
on  this  day,  I,  as  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel,  deem  it  my 
duty  to  be  unusually  abstemious  on  such  occasions : 
nevertheless,  considering  the  peculiar  circumstances 
under  which  I  am  placed  this  day,  I  think  I  will 
waive  objections  and  take  another  small  portion  of  the 
turkey." 

"  That 's  right  elder — what  part  will  you  take 
now?" 

"Well;  I 'm  not  particular ;  a  small  quantity  of  the 
breast,  with  a  part  of  a  leg  and  some  of  the  stuffing, 
will  be  quite  sufiicient." 

"  Pass  the  cramberries  to  Elder  Sniffles,  Jeff— elder 
help  yourself ;  wife  give  the  elder  some  more  o'  the 
turnip  sass  and  potater." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Maguire.  I  am  an  advocate  for 
a  vegetable  diet— and  have  always  maintained  that  it 


THANKSGIVING  DAY 


165 


is  more  congenial  to  individuals  of  sedontarj  habits 
and  intellectual  pursuits  like  myself,  than  animal 
food." 

Jeff,  mj  son,  pass  the  bread.  Sister  Bedott  send 
your  plate  for  some  more  o'  the  turkey." 

"  No,  I 'm  obleeged  to  ye — I 've  had  sufficient." 
"  Jeff,  cut  the  chicken  pie." 

"  Sure  enough — I  almost  forgot  that  I  was  to  carve 
the  pie — Aunt  Silly  you  '11  take  a  piece  of  it,  won't 
you?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  dew  take  a  leetle  mite  on 't. 
I 'm  a  great  favoryte  o'  chicken  pie — always  thought 
*t  was  a  delightful  beverage — don't  you  Elder  Snif- 
fles?" 

A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott — very  indeed; 
chicken  pie  is  truly  a  very  desirable  article  of  food." 

*'  Allow  me  to  help  you  to  some  of  it,  elder." 

"  Thank  you,  my  young  friend ;  as  I  before  remark- 
ed, I  am  entirely  opposed  to  an  immoderate  indulgence 
of  the  appetite  at  all  times,  but  particularly  on  thanks- 
giving occasions — and  am  myself  always  somewhat 
abstemious.  However,  I  consider  it  my  duty  at  the 
present  time  to  depart,  to  some  extent,  from  the  usual 
simplicity  of  my  diet.  I  will,  therefore  comply  with 
your  request  and  partake  of  the  chicken  pie." 

"  Take  some  more  o'  the  cramberry  sass,  elder : 
cramberiies  is  hulsome." 

"  A,  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Maguire — they  are  so , 


166  I  D  O  W   B  E  D  0  T  T  PAPERS. 

nevertheless,  I  maintain  that  we  should  not  indulge 
too  freely  in  even  the  most  wholesome  of  creaturs 
comforts ;  however,  since  you  desire  it,  I  will  take  a 
small  portion  more  of  the  cranberries." 

Husband,  dew  pass  that  pickled  tongue — it  hain't 
been  touched — take  some  on 't  Elder  Sniffles." 

"  I 'm  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Maguire — ^bui  I  confess 
I  am  somewhat  fearful  of  taking  articles  of  that  de- 
scription upon  my  stomach,  as  they  create  a  degree  of 
acidity  which  is  incompatible  with  digestion.  Ts  it 
not  so  my  young  friend  ?  You  are  undoubtedly  pre- 
pared to  decide,  as  you  are,  I  believe,  pursuing  the 
study  of  the  medical  science." 

"  I  think  you  are  altogether  mistaken,  Elder  Snif- 
fles. We  should  always  take  a  due  proportion  of 
acid  with  our  food,  in  order  to  preserve  the  equilibrium 
of  the  internal  economy,  and  produce  that  degree  of 
effervescence  which  is  necessary  to  a  healthy  secre  • 
tion." 

Exactly.  Your  views  of  the  subject  is  one  which 
never  struck  me  before;  it  seems  a  very  just  one.  I 
will  partake  of  the  pickled  tongue  in  consideration  of 
your  remarks." 

"  Take  a  slice  on 't,  Sister  Bedott.  You  seem  to 
need  some  tongue  to-day — you  're  oncommon  still." 

What  a  musical  man  you  be,  brother  Magwire  I 
but  it  strikes  me  when  an  indiwiddiwal  has  an  oppor- 
tunity o'  hearin'  intellectible  conversation  they 'd  bet- 


THANKSGIVING  DAY. 


167 


ter  keep  still  and  improve  it.  Ain't  it  so,  Elder 
Sniffles?" 

A  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott;  and  one  wbicli 
lias  often  occurred  to  mj  own  mind." 

"  Take  some  more  of  the  cliicken  pie,  Elder  Snif- 
fles." 

Excuse  me,  mj  young  friend  ;  I  will  take  nothing 
more." 

"  What !  you  dont't  mean  to  give  it  up  yet,  I  hope> 
eldei." 

'  ..naeed,  Mr.  Maguire,  I  assure  you  I  would  rather 
not  take  any  thing  more,  for  as  I  before  remarked,  I 
am  decidedly  opposed  to  excessive  eating  upon  this 
day." 

^  Well,  then,  -we  '11  have  the  pies  and  puddins. 
JefP,  my  son,  fly  round  and  help  your  mar  change  the 
plates.  I  '11  take  the  puddin,  Melissy — ^you  may  tend 
to  the  pies.  Jeff  set  on  the  cider.  So  here 's  a  plum- 
puddin' — it  looks  nice — I  guess  you  've  had  good-luck 
to-day  -wife.    Sister  Bedott,  you  '11  have  some  on 't?" 

No ;  I 'm  ohleeged  to  ye.  I 've  got  ruther  of  a 
head-ache  to-day,  and  plum  puddin's  rich.  I  guess 
I  'il  take  a  small  piece  o'  the  punkin  pie." 

^'  Elder  Sniffles,  you  '11  be  helped  to  some  on 't  of 
course-  ?" 

•'iLJeed,  Mr.  Maguire,  the  practice  of  indulging  in 
anic:e2  of  this  description  after  eating  meat  is  esteem- 
ed higlly  pernicious,  and  I  inwardly  protest  against 


168  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

it;  furthermore,  as  Mrs.  Bedott  has  very  justly  re- 
marked, plum  pudding  is  rich — however,  considering- 
the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  occasion,  I  will  ibr 
once  overstep  the  boundaries  which  I  have  prescribed 
for  myself." 

Am  I  to  understand  that  yon  '11  have  some,  or 
not?" 

will  partake,  in   consideration  of  time  and 

place." 

"Jimmeni!  wife,  this  is  good  puddin'  as  I  ever 
eat." 

"  Elder  Sniffles,  will  you  take  some  o'  the  pie — her<> 
is  a,  mince  pie  and  punkin  pie." 

I  will  take  a  small  portion  of  the  pumpkin  pie  if 
you  please,  Mrs.  Maguire,  as  I  consider  it  highly  nu- 
tritious ;  but,  as  regards  the  mince  pie,  it  is  an  article 
of  food  which  I  deem  excessively  deleterious  to  the 
constitution,  inasmuch  as  it  is  composed  of  so  great 
a  variety  of  ingredients.  I  esteem  it  exceedingly 
dif&cult  of  digestion.    Is  it  not  so  my  young  fnend  ?" 

"  By  no  means,  elder ;  quite  the  contrary — and  the 
reason  is  obvious.  Observe,  elder — it  is  cut  into  the 
most  minute  particles ;  hence  it  naturally  follows,  that 
being,  as  it  were,  completely  calcined  before  it  enters 
the  system — it  leaves,  so  to  speak,  no  labor  to  be  per- 
formed by  the  digestive  organs,  and  it  is  disposed  of 
without  the  slightest  difficulty." 

Ah,  indeed  !  your  reasoning  is  quite  new  to  me— 


THANKSGIVING  DAY. 


169 


vet  I  confess  it  to  be  most  satisfactory  and  lucid.  In 
consideration  of  its  facility  of  digestion  I  will  partake 
also  of  tlie  mince  pie." 

"  "Wife,  fill  tlie  elder  a  glass  o'  cider." 

"  Desist !  Mrs.  Maguire,  desist,  I  entreat  you  !  I  in- 
variably set  my  face  like  a  flint  against  tbe  use  of  all 
intoxicating  liquors  as  a  beverage." 

"  Jimmeni !  you  don't  mean  to  call  new  cider  an  in- 
toxicatin'  liquor,  I  hope.  Why,  man  alive,  it 's  jest 
made — ^hain't  begun  to  Vv^ork." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  believe  it  to  be  exceedingly  insa- 
lubriDus,  and  detrimental  to  the  system.  Is  not  that 
its  nature,  my  young  friend  ?" 

"  Far  fi-om  it,  elder — far  from  it.  Eeflect  a  moment 
and  you  will  readily  perceive,  that  being  the  pure 
juice  of  the  apple — wholly  free  from  all  alcoholic 
TQixture — it  possesses  all  the  nutritive  properties  of  the 
iTuit,  with  the  advantage  of  being  in  a  more  condensed 
^brm,  which  at  once  renders  it  much  more  agreeable, 
and  facilitates  assimilation." 

Yery  reasonable — very  reasonable,  indeed.  Mrs. 
Maguire  you  may  fill  my  glass." 

"  Take  another  slice  o'  the  puddin'.  Elder  Sniffles." 

"  No  more,  I 'm  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Maguire." 

"  Well,  won't  you  be  helped  to  some  more  o'  the 
pie?" 

"  No  more,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Maguire.^ 
8 


170 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


"But  you'll  take  another  glass  o'  cider,  won't 
you 

"  In  consideration  of  the  nutritious  properties  of 
new  cider,  which  your  son  has  abundantly  shown  to 
exist,  I  will  permit  you  to  replenish  my  glass." 

**  So  you  won't  take  nothin'  more,  elder  ?" 

"  Nothing  more,  my  friends — nothing  more  what- 
soever— ^for  as  I  have  several  times  remarked  during 
the  repast,  I  am  an  individual  of  exceedingly  abste- 
mious habits — endeavoring  to  enforce  by  example 
that  which  I  so  strenuously  enjoin  by  precept  from 
the  pulpit,  to  wit — temperance  in  all  thing." 

"  "Walk  into  the  sitting  room,  elder.  Mother  '11 
have  to  excuse  us  for  a  while.  Aunt  Bedott,  you  '11 
give  us  your  company,  won't  you?" 

*'Sartainly." 

"  Father,  are  you  not  coming  ?" 

"Not  now,  Jeff.  I've  got  to  go  out  for  a  spell. 
1 11  try  to  be  in  soon." 

"  Take  this  arm-cheer  by  the  stove,  Elder  Sniffles 
— the  room's  got  ruther  cool;  Jefferson,  can't  you 
accumelate  the  fire  a  little  ?" 

"It  strikes  me  very  forcibly,  Mrs.  Bedott,  that 
the  weather  is  somewhat  cool  for  the  season  of  the 
year." 

"  So  it  strikes  me  tew ;  but  I  think  this  is  quite  a 
cool  climit — appearently  considerably  cooler  'n  Wig- 
gletown," 


IHANKSGIVING  DAY. 


171 


"  Why  no,  anntj — there  can't  be  any  difference  in 
the  climate — the  latitude 's  just  the  same." 

*  I  guess  not,  Jeff — what  is  the  latitude  o'  Scrabble 

"  Oh,  it 's  about  forty-two." 
Lawful  sakes !  our  'n  in  Wiggletow^  's  as  mucn 
as  fifty,  and  sometimes  in  the  summer  time  it  gits  up 
as  high  as  sixty  or  seventy." 

"  Ah  \  indeed !  you  surprise  me,  Mrs.  Bedott. 
Speaking  of  Wiggletown — is  that  your  place  of 
residence?" 

"  It  is  so — the  place  where  the  heft  o'  my  life  has 
ben  spent." 

"  In  what  sectioD  of  the  country  is  it  located  ?" 

''It's  sitiwated  between  GhinderfieldandTuckertown, 
Slammerkin'  crick  runs  along  the  south  side  on 't." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  comprehend ;  I  think  I  have  an  indis- 
criminate recollection  of  the  place*  If  I  am  not  mis- 
taken I  journeyed  through  it  some  two  years  since,  in 
company  with  my  companion  (now  deceased),  on  a 
visit  to  her  relatives  in  that  section." 

"H-o-o-o!  how  you  talk!  that  journey  must  be  a 
raellancolly  subjick  o'  reflection  now — how  little  you 
thougji't  then  that  in  tew  year  you'd  be  called  to 
mourn  her  departer !  how  onsartin'  the  futur  is  !'* 

"  True — a  very  just  remark,  Mrs.  Bedott,  very,  in 
vieed — we  are  sojourners  in  a  world  of  fluctuation  I" 

"  0,  Elder  Snifge&— how  true  that  is  I" 


172 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS, 


"  One  moment  tossed  on  tlie  billows  of  prosperitj 
and  joj,  and  the  next  plunged  into  the  abysses  of 
desperation  and  despair." 

0,  Elder  Sniffles,  what  a  strikin'  remark ;  every, 
word  you  say  goes  to  the  bottom  o'  my  heart.  I  tew 
mourn  the  loss  of  a  pardner,  and  bein'  as  w^e  'ro  simi 
larly  sittiwated,  I  feel  as  if  w^e  could  sympathize  with 
one  another.  You  hain't  no  children — I  've  got  tew,  but 
they  're  married  and  settled,  and  I 'm  as  good  as  alone 
in  the  world.    It 's  a  tryin'  sittiwation — very  tryin'." 

It  is  50,  Mrs.  Bedott — your  remark  is  a  very  just  one 
— very,  indeed — ^your  situation  is  undoubtedly  a  trymg 
one — but  you  are  in  easy  circumstances,  I  believe  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  ginerally  speakin'  I  be  purty  easy, 
though  sometimes  I'm  ruther  oneasy  when  I  think 
o'  the  futur — I  w^as  wonderfully  struck  with  a  remark 
in  your  sarmon  this  momin' — it  described  my  feelins 
so  egzackly." 

"  Allow  me  to  inquire  what  that  remark  was,  Mrs. 
Bedott?" 

[The  conversation  is  here  interrupted  by  the  en- 
trance of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maguire]. 

"Well,  elder,  how  do  you  come  on — ^time  pass 
agreeably  ?" 

'•Most  agreeably,  Mr.  Maguire,  most  agreeably,  in 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Bedott." 

"  Glad  on 't — Jeff,  here 's  the  last  '  Luminary,'  want 
it?  I  've  read  it  purty  much  all,  exceptin*  the  poetry.** 


THANKSGIVING  DAY. 


173 


"  Does  it  contain  a  poem  by  'Hugelina?'  If  so,  per- 
mit me  to  request  you  to  favor  us  with  it,  my  young 
friend.    She  is  indeed  a  most  extraordinary-  writer." 

"  She  is,  that 's  a  fact — Jeff,  less  have  it." 

(Jeff  reads) — "  Those  of  our  readers  who  are  in  any 
degree  imbued  with  a  love  of  the  poetic — with  an 
appreciation  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful — will  find  a  * 
rich  treat  in  the  following  exquisite  lines  from  the  pen 
of  our  highly  gifted  correspondent  *  Hugelina.'  Aside 
from  the  high  degree  of  finish  which  her  effusions 
always  possess,  the  ensuing  lines  breathe  a  spirit  of 
world- weariness  and  self  abandonment  exceedingly 
touching. 

S  O  N  X  E  T  . 

Oblivion !  stretch  thine  everlasting  wing^, 
And  hide  from  human  gaze  my  mournful  lyre— 
For  while  my  earth-worn,  weary  spirit  sings, 
I  frequently  feel  desirous  to  expire. 
It  is  no  vain  and  vanishing  desire, 
But  a  compulsatory  wish  that  seems 
To  mingle  nightly  in  my  visioned  dreams — 
A  wish  to  leave  this  uncongenial  sphere, 
Which  souls  like  mine  are  apt  to  find  so  drear. 

0  for  a  residence  in  yonder  orb 

Which  doth  the  affections  of  my  soul  absorb ! 
My  spirit  seeks  in  vain  for  sympathy  here  ; 

1  feel  as  I  have  nevgr  felt  before — 

The  one  wild,  withering  wish — to  die  and  be  no  more ! 

HOGELLNA. 

"  A  splendid  production,  truly — but  does  it  not 
strike  you  Mrs.  Maguire,  that  there  is  a  slight  degree 
of  obscurity  in  the  poem  ?" 


174 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


"  0  don't  ax  me — I  can't  make  head  nor  tail  on 't— 
what's  your  opinion,  Jefferson?" 

"  AVel],  I  think  that  the  obscurity  of  which  Elder 
Sniffles  complains  constitutes  the  greatest  beauty  of 
the  poem.  Don't  you  know,  elder,  we  are  never 
deeply  interested  in  any  thing  that  we  can  compre- 
hend at  the  first  glance.  There  must  be  some  mystery, 
some  hidden  meaning  to  excite  at  once  our  curiosity 
and  admiration — ;Shakespeare  himself  often  writes 
obscurely,  you  know." 

"  Shakespeare !  that  is  an  author  that  I  am  not 
conversant  with.  What  does  he  principally  treat 
of?" 

"  0,  theology,  and  metaphysics,  and  so  forth." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  recollect  now — I  think  I  have  seen 
some  of  his  serrnons.  On  consideration,  your  reason- 
ing in  relation  to  the  poem  strikes  me  as  quite  con 
elusive.  Th^e  should  be — as  you  very  justly  re- 
mark— a  hidden  meaning  to  create  an  interest  in  any 
thing  of  that  description.' ' 

"Well,  then,  that  poitry  must  be  awful  interestin', 
for  all  the  meanin'  ther  is  in 't  is  hid^  and  no  mistake 
—don't  you  say  so,  husband  ?" 

"0,1  ain't  no  judge  o' poitry — ax  sister  Bedott, 
she  knows  all  about  poitry,  writes  bags  on 't." 

"Ah,  indeed!  is  it  true,  Mrs.  Bedott,  that  you  cul- 
tivate the  poetic  art  ?" 

"  Well,  H  ainH  for  me  to  say  " 


XVII. 


Mihto  xttim  to  a  ^xak  in  tl]e  nat 

gHE  sits  down  on  a  log  and  sings  in  a  plaintive 
voice, 

Ere  love  had  teached  my  tears  to  flow, 

I  was  oncommon  cherful, 
But  now  such  misery  I  dew  know 

I 'm  always  sad  and  fcrful. 

"What  peaceful  hours  I  once  enjoyed, 

All  on  a  summer's  day ! 
But  O,  my  comforts  was  destroyed, 

When  Shadrack  crossed  my  way ! 

I  heerd  him  preach — I  heerd  hhn  pray  — 

I  heerd  him  sweetly  sing, 
Dear  suz !  how  I  did  feel  that  day  ! 

It  was  a  dretfuTthiug ! 

Full  forty  dollars  would  I  give, 

If  we'd  continnerd  apart — 
For  though  he 's  made  my  sperrit  live. 

He 's  surely  bust  my  heart ! 

(She  Sighs  profoundly — and  tlie  elder  advances  uu- 
^-jpecfedly.) 

"  Good  gracious !  is  that  you,  Elder  Sniffles!  ho\¥ 


176 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPETvS. 


you  did  scare  me  I  Never  was  so  flustrated  in  all  tlie 
days  o'  my  life!  hadent  tlie  most  remotest  idee  o' 
meetin  you  here — wouldent  a  come  for  forty  dollars  if 
I 'd  a  s'posed  you  ever  meander'd  here.  I  never  was 
here  afore — ^but  I  was  a  settin'  by  my  winder  and  1 
cast  my  eyes  over  here,  and  as  I  obsarved  the  lofty 
trees  a  wavin'  in  the  gentle  blast,  and  heerd  the  feath- 
ered singsters  a  wobblin'  their  mellancolly  music,  -I 
felt  quite  a  call  to  come  over,  it 's  so  retired  and  mo 
rantic — such  an  approbriate  place  to  marvel  round  in, 
ye  know,  when  a  body  feels  low  sperrited  and  uncon- 
solable,  as  I  dew  to-night.    0,  d-e-a-r!" 

"Most  worthy  Mrs.  Bedott,  your  evident  depression 
fills  me  with  unmitigated  sympathy.  our  feelings, 
(if  I  may  be  permitted  to  judge  from  the  language  of 
your  song,  vvhich  I  overheard") — 

"  You  dident  though,  elder !  the  dretftd  suz  !  what 
shall  I  dew  !  I  wouldent  a  had  you  heerd  that  song 
for  no  money  !  I  wish  I  hadent  a  3ome  I  I  wish  to 
gracious  I  hadent  a  come  !" 

I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Bedott,  it  was  unintentional  on 
my  part,  entirely  unintentional,  but  my  contiguity  to 
yourself,  and  your  proximity  to  me,  were  such  as  ren- 
dered it  impossible  for  me  to  avoid  hearing  you — " 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now,  it 's  no  use  cryin'  foi 
spilt  milk,  but  I  wouldent  hev  you  to  think  I  hnow'd 
you  ever  come  here." 

"  On  the  contrary,  this  grove  is  a  favorite  resort  of 


THE  WIDOW   RETIRES  TO  A   GROVE.  177 

mine ;  it  affords  a  congenial  retreat  after  the  extermi- 
nating and  tremendous  mental  labors  of  the  day.  I 
not  nnfrequently  spend  the  declining  hours  of  the 
evening  here,  buried  in  the  most  profound  meditation. 
On  your  entrance,  I  was  occupying  my  customary  seat 
beneath  that  umbrageous  mounting  ash  which  you 
perceive  a  few  feet  from  you :  indeed,  had  not  your 
mind  been  much  pre-occupied,  you  could  scarcely  have 
avoided  discovering  me."  ^ 

"  0,  granf  ther  grievous !  I  wish  I 'd  a  stayed  to  hum  I 
I  was  born  for  misfortin'  and  nothin'  else !  I  wish  to 
massy  I 'd  a  stayed  to  hum  to-night !  but  I  felt  as  if 
I 'd  like  to  come  here  once  afore  I  leave  the  place." 
(She  weeps.) 

"  Ah  1  indeed !  do  you  project  leaving  Scrabble 
Hill?" 

"  Yes,  I  dew,  I  calklate  to  go  next  week.  I  mmi  hear 
you  preach  once  more — once  more,  elder,  and  then  I 'm 
agwine — somewher — don't  care  where,  nor  I  don't 
care  what  becomes  o'  me  when  I  git  there."  (She 
sobs  violently.) 

"  0,  Mrs.  Bedofct,  you  distress  me  beyond  limitation 
—permit  me  to  inquire  the  cause  of  this  uncontrolla- 
ble agpny  ?" 

O,  Elder  Sniffles,  ^-ou  the  last  indiwiddiwal 
that  ought  to  ax  such  a  question.  O,  1  shall  die  I  J 
elickLl  give  it  up !" 

Madam,  my  interest  in  your  welfare  is  intense^  al 
8* 


178 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


low  me  to  entreat  you  still  more  vehemently  if  'in^ 
burden  your  mind,  perhaps  it  is  in  my  power  to  re- 
lieve you." 

*' Believe  me !  "what  an  idee  I  O,  elder,  you  will  be 
the  death  o'  me  if  you  make  me  revulge  my  feelins  so. 
An  hour  ago,  I  felt  as  if  I 'd  a'  died  afore  I 'd  a  said 
what  I  hey  said  now,  but  you  ve  draw'd  it  out  o^  me." 

*'Eespected  madam,  you  have  as  yet  promulged 
nothing  satisfactory,  permit  me — " 

"0,  granfther  grievous!  must  I  come  to'tl  well 
then,  if  I  must,  I  must,  so  to  begin  at  the  beginnin*. 
When  I  fast  heern  you  preach,  your  sarmons  onset- 
tied  my  faith ;  but  after  a  spell  I  was  convinced  by 
yer  argefyin',  and  gin  up  my  'roneus  notions,  and  my 
mind  got  considerable  carm.  But  how  could  I  set 
Sabberday  after  Sabberday  under  the  droppin's  o'  yer 
voice,  and  not  begin  to  feel  a  mor  'n  ordinary  interest 
in  the  speaker  ?  I  indevored  not  tew,  but  I  couldent 
help  it;  'twas  in  vain  to  struggle  against  the  feelins 
that  prepossest  my  buzzom.  But  it 's  ail  over  with 
me  now !  my  felicitude  is  at  an  eend  !  my  sittiwaiion 
is  hopeless !  I  shall  go  back  to  Wiggletown  next 
week  and  never  truble  you  no  more." 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Bedott,  you  alarm — " 
Yes,  you  never  '11  see  no  more  trouble  with  Pris- 
silly.    I 'm  agwine  back  to  Wiggleton.    Can't  bear  tu 
go  back  there  nother,  on  account  o'  the  indiwiddi- 
wals  that  I  come  away  to  git  rid  of.    There 's  Cappen 


THE  WIDOW   RETIRES   TO   A   GROVE.  179 

Canoot,  lie  always  been  after  me  ever  since  my  hus- 
band died,  though  I  hain't  never  gin  him  no  incur- 
ridgement — but  he  won't  take  no  for  an  answer.  I 
dread  the  critter's  attentions.  And  Squire  Bailey — 
he 's  wonderful  rich — but  that  ain't  no  recommendation 
to  me,  and  I 've  told  him  so  time  and  agin,  but  I  s'pose 
he  thinks  I  '11  come  round  bumby.  And  Deacon 
Crosby,  he  lost  his  pardner  a  spell  afore  I  come  away, 
he  was  very  much  pleased  with  me,  he 's  a  wonderfal 
fine  man — make  a  fust  rate-husband.  I  kind  o'  hesi- 
tated when  he  promulgated  his  sentiments  tew  me, 
told  him  I 'd  think  on 't  till  I  come  back — s'pose  he  '11 
be  at  me  as  soon  as  I  git  there.  I  hate  to  disappoint 
Deacon  Crosbj^,  he 's  such  a  fine  man,  and  my  dezeased 
companion  sot  so  much  by  him,  but  then  I  don't  feel 

for  him,  as  I  dew  for  .    He 's  a  Presbyterian  tew, 

and  I  don't  think 't  would  be  right  to  unite  my  desti 
nation  to  hisen." 

"  Undoubtedly  in  your  present  state  of  feeling,  the 
uncongeniality  would  render  a  union — " 

"  0,  dear,  dear,  dear !  I  can't  bear  to  go  back  there 
and  indure  their  attentions,  but  thank  fortune,  they 
won't  bother  me  long — I  shall  go  into  a  decline,  I 
know  I  shall,  as  well  as  I  want  to  know  it.  My  troub- 
les '11  soon  be  over — ondoubtedly  they  '11  put  up  a 
monnyment  to  my  memory— I 've  got  the  discription 
all  ready  for 't — it  says, 


180  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEUS. 

Here  sleeps  Prissilly  P.  Bedott, 

Late  relic  of  Hezeki;ir, 
How  mellancolly  was  her  lot  1 

How  soon  she  did  expire ! 

She  did  n't  commit  self-suicide, 

'Twas  tribbilation  killed  her, 
O,  what  a  pity  she  had  n't  a'  died 

Afore  she  saw  the  elder ! — 

And  0,  elder,  you  '11  visit  my  grave,  won't  ye,  and 
shed  tew  or  three  tears  over  it  ?  'T  would  be  a  con- 
solation tew  me  to  think  you  would." 

"  In  case  I  should  ever  have  occasion  to  journey 
thro'  that  section  of  country,  and  could  consistently 
with  my  arrangements  make  it  convenient  to  tarry  for 
a  short  time  at  Wiggletown,  I  assure  you  it  would  af- 
ford me  much  pleasure  to  visit  your  grave  agreeably 
to  your  request." 

"0,  elder,  how  onfeelin'  1" 

"  Unfeehng !  did  I  not  understand  you  correctly 
when  I  understood  you  to  request  me  to  visit  your 
grave  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  so  carm, 
when  I 'm  a  talkin'  about  dyin'." 

"  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Bedott,  I  had  not  the  slightest 
intention  of  manifesting  a  want  of  feeliag  in  my  re- 
mark. I  should  regard  your  demise  as  a  most  deplor- 
able event,  and  it  would  afford  me  no  small  degree  of 
satisfaction  to  prevent  so  melancholy  a  catastrophe 
were  it  in  my  power." 


THE  WIDOW   RETIRES   TO   A  GROVE.  181 

''Well,  I  guess  I'll  go  hum.  If  Sally  slionld 
know  you  was  here  a  talkin'  with  me,  she 'd  make  an 
awful  fuss." 

Indeed,  I  see  nc  reason  to  fear  that  my  domestic 
should  interfere  in  any  of  my  proceedings." 

'•  0,  lawful  sakes !  how  numb  you  be,  elder !  I 
dident  illude  to  Sal  Blake — I  meant  Sal  Hugle,  she 't 
you  \e  ingaged  tew." 

"Engaged  to  Miss  Hugle!  you  alarm  me,  Mrs. 
Be—" 

"Nov/  don^t  unaertake  to  deny  it,  elder;  every 
Dody  says  it 's  a  fact." 

"  Well  then,  it  only  remains  for  me  to  assert  that 
every  body  is  laboring  under  an  entire  and  unmitigat- 
ed mistake." 

"  Yo^Jb  don't  say  so,  e'lder !  well,  I  declare  I  dew  feel 
relieved.  I  couldent  indure  the  idee  o'  stay  in'  here 
to  see  that  match  go  off.  She 's  so  onworthy — go  dif- 
ferent from  what  your  companion  had  ought  to  be — 
and  so  lazy — and  makes  such  awful  poitry  ;  and  then 
she  hain't  worth  a  cent  in  the  world.  But  I  don't 
want  to  say  a  word  aginst  her ;  for  if  you  ain't  in- 
gaged  now,  mabby  you  vml  oe.  O,  elder !  promise 
me,  dew  promise  me  how 't  you  won't  marry  that 
critter.  'T  would  be  a  c  jnsolation  tew  me  when  I 'm 
fm  away  on  my  dyin'  bed,  to  know — "  [she  weeps 
with  renewed  energy.]  *'0,  elder,  I'm  afreard  I'm 
n  gwine  to  hev  the  highsterics.     T  'm  subjiclr  tc 


182 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPEES. 


spasmatic  affections  when  I 'm  excited  and  over- 
come." 

"You  alarm  me,  Mrs.  Bedott!  I  will  hasten  to  the 
house,  and  bring  the  sal  volatile,  which  iiiay  restore 
you." 

*'For  the  land's  sake,  elder,  don't  go  after  Sal;  she 
can't  dew  nothing  for  me.  It  '11  only  make  talk,  for 
she  '11  tell  it  all  round  the  village.  Jest  take  thac  arc 
newspaper  that  sticks  out  o'  yer  pocket,  and  fan  me 
with  it  a  leetle.  There — I  feel  quite  resusticated, 
I'm  obleeged  tew  ye;  guess  I  can  manage  to  git  hmn 
now."    [She  rises.] 

"Farewell,  Elder  Sniffles  I  adool  we  part  to  meet 
no  more !" 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Bedott!  do  not  speak  in  that  mournfu- 
strain ;  you  distress  me  beyond  all  mitigation" — [he 
takes  her  hand]  "pray  reseat  yourself,  and  allow  me 
to  prolong  the  conversation  for  a  short  period.  As  I 
before  observed,  your  language  distresses  me  beyond 
all  duration." 

"  Dew  you  actilly  feel  distressed  at  the  idee  o'  part- 
in'  with  me  ?" 

"  Most  indubitably,  Mrs.  Bedott." 

"  Well,  then,  what 's  the  use  o'  partin'  at  all  ?  0, 
what  heu  I  said !  what  hev  I  said  i" 

"  Ahem — ahaw '  allow  me  to  inquire  —  are  you  in 
easy  circumstances,  Mrs,  Bedott  ?" 


THE  WIDOW  RETIRES   TO   A  GROVE.  183 


Well,  not  intirely,  jet ;  thougli  I  feel  considerable 
easier  'n  wliat  I  did  an  hour  ago." 

"  Ahem !  I  imagine  that  you  do  not  fully  apprehend 
my  meaning.  I  am  a  clergyman — a  laborer  in  the 
vineyard  of  the  Lord — as  such  you  will  readily  un- 
derstand I  can  not  be  supposed  to  abound  in  the  £lthy 
lucre  of  this  world  my  remuneration  is  small — 
henco-" 

"  0,  elder,  how  can  you  s'pose  I 'd  hesitate  on  ac- 
count o'  your  bein'  poor  ?  Don't  think  on 't — it  only 
increases  my  opinion  of  you ;  money  ain't  no  objick 
to  me." 

I  naturally  infer  from  your  indifference  respecting 
the  amount  of  my  worldly  possessions,  that  you  your* 
self  have — " 

"Don't  ba  oneasy,  elder,  dear — don't  illude  tew  it 
again;  depend  on 't  you 're  jest  as  dear  to  me,  every 
bit  and  grain,  as  you  would  be  if  you  owned  all  the 
mines  of  Ingy." 

"  I  will  say  no  more  about  it." 
So  I  s'pose  we'  re  engaged." 

"  Undoab',«dly." 

"  We  're  ingaged,  and  my  tribbilation  is  at  an  end." 
[M-^p-  Lead  droops  on  his  shoulder.]  0,  Shadrack  1 
what  will  Hugelina  say  when  she  hears  on 't?" 


XVIIT. 


%\t  WHM'n  WIuUb  t0  \tx  §aug!iUr,  Pes. 

Dear  Melissy  : — 
J  NOW  take  mj  pen  in  hand  to  tell  jou  tlia.t  1 
mther  guess  you  '11  be  considerably  astonisbed 
wben  you  read  what  I  set  down  to  rite.  I  Ve  got 
some  news  to  tell,  tbat  you  can't  guess  if  you  try  till 
next  never,  so  you  may  as  well  give  it  up  farst  as  last 
afore  you  begin.  And  you  ain't  to  let  on  a  word 
about  it  only  to  Jubiter  and  Kier  and  Seliny.  Come 
to  think,  I  don't  care  if  you  tell  Sam  Pendergrasses 
wife,  bein'  as  how  she 's  a  partickler  friend  o'  mine. 

But  don't  you  open  yer  head  about  it  to  no  other 
indiwiddiwal — for  I  want  to  supprise  the  Wiggleiown 
folksj  and  make  'em  open  ther  eyes  a  leetle.  Come 
to  considder,  I  guess  you 'd  better  not  tell  Miss  Fen- 
dergrass,  for  I 'm  afeard  she  can't  keep  it  to  herself. 
She  might  let  it  out  to  the  Ken^pes,  and  they 'd  tell 
the  Crosbys,  and  the  Crosbys  they 'd  carry  it  strait  to 
Major  Coon's  wife,  and  she 'd  be  sure  to  tell  old  Daw- 
son's wife  (the  widder  Jinkins  that  was — she  't  was 


WRITES  TO   HER  DAUGHTER. 


185 


Poll  Bingham),  and  slie 's  the  verrj  "undentical  person 
I  want  to  keep  it  from  till  it  busts  upon  her  all  of  a 
sudding,  like  a  thunder-clap,  I  guess  I'll  let  her 
know  't  I  can  hold  my  head  as  high  as  hern  in  futur, 
for  who  did  she  git  but  a  decrippid  old  bung  head 
that  she  wouldent  a  had  if  she  could  a  got  any  body 
else.  I  guess  on  the  hull  you  hadent  better  say  noth- 
in'  about  it  to  Kier's  wife,  for  fear  she  '11  tell  her  folks, 
and  they  '11  sartinly  devulgate  it  all  round.  If  you 
dew  tell  her,  you  make  her  promise  she  won't  hint  a 
sillyble  about  it  to  her  step-mother — she 't  was  Kesier 
Winkle — nor  to  nobody  else.  You  must  all  keep  it  a 
perfound  secret  till  I  come.  If  nothin'  happens  to 
pervent,  we  shall  be  in  Wiggletown  next  week,  a 
Saturday,  on  our  bridal  tewer.  A  Sunday  mornin 
we  calkilate  to  gc  to  meetin'  along  a  you  and  Jubiter, 
ftnd  in  the  afternoon  we  shall  tend  the  Baptist  meetin'. 
I  tell  ye  won't  ther  be  some  starin'  in  Wiggletown 
that  day.  I  guess  they'll  find  out  that  I'm  as  good 
as  enny  on  'em  if  not  a  leetle  better.  I  shan't  hev  on 
none  o'  the  things  they  'ye  ever  seen  me  wear.  My 
riggin 's  to  be  intirely  new.  Yer  Uncle  Magwire  has 
made  me  a  present  of  a  hansome  green  merino  dress, 
ard  yer  Aunt  Magwire  has  gi'n  me  a  new  brown 
eh  et  bunnit,.  and  yer  Cousin  Jefferson  has  presented 
ine  an  elegant  plaid  shawl,  and  I  calkilate  to  come  out 
in  'em  all  in  Wiggletown. 

Soeakin'  o'  ray  new  wardrobes,  reminds  me  to  tei] 


186  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEES. 

you  that  if  Jabe  Clark  comes  your  way  a  peckilin*, 
not  to  trade  a  cent's  woth  with  him.  You  remember 
how  he  come  it  over  me  about  the  shoes,  don't  ye? 
Well  it 's  amazin'  I  should  ever  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
be  took  in  by  him  agin — ^but  so  'twas.  He  come 
along  here  a  spell  ago,  and  sarved  me  the  awfallest 
trick  that  ever  you  heerd  on.  I  was  alone  in  the  house 
— ^yer  aunt  had  went  to  a  sick  nabor's,  and  the  way  he 
cheated  me  was  perfectly  drettul.  My  blud  oiles  now 
a  thinkin'  on 't.  He  pretended  he 'd  experienced  re- 
ligion, and  lamented  over  the  way  he  usea  to  cheat 
and  lie ;  and  as  true  as  I  live  and  breathe,  actilly  got 
round  me  so 't  he  preswaded  me  to  swop  away  an  ele- 
gant stun  colored  silk,  that  cost  me  a  dollar  a  yard, 
for  a  miserable  slazy  stripid  consarn,  that  he  said  was 
all  the  fashion  now — called  it  ''grody  flewry" — and 
what  makes  it  more  aggravatin'  made  me  pay  tew  dol- 
lars to  boot.  But  that  wa'n't  the  wost  on 't,  for  come 
to  enroll  it,  we  found  that  three  or  four  yards  away 
at  t'  other  eend  on 't  was  all  dammidged  and  stained 
up — 't  wa'n't  fit  for  nothing.  Yer  aunt  was  mad  at 
mo  for  bein'  so  took  in,  a^  yer  uncle  he  lafft  and 
hectored  me  and  went  on  about  it — you  know  what  a 
critter  he  is  to  bother  a  boddy.  At  last  I  busted  out 
a  cryin,'  and  went  off  and  shot  myself  up  in  my  room, 
and  stayed  there  till  tea  time — and  when  I  come  down, 
lo  and  behold,  yer  uncle  stept  up  and  handed  me  ^ 
new  green  merino  dress — he 'd  ben  off  to  the  store 


WPwITES  TO  HER  DAUGHTER.  187 

&rid  bouglit  it  a  purpose  for  mC;  fringe,  and  buttons 
and  every  thing  to  trim  it  with,  and  I  Ve  got  it  made 
up,  and  it  sets  like  a  dandy — and  I 'm  gwine  to  be 
ma'rried  in  it.  But  I  can't  help  feelin'  a^vfully  gauled 
about  the  silk.  I  took  it  to  Parker  and  Pettibone's  and 
swoppt  it  for  some  things  I  wanted.  They  wouldent 
allow  me  but  eighteen  pence  a  yard,  and  't  was  all 
't  was  woth.  Jabe  made  me  take  a  couple  o'  hanker- 
chers  tew,  for  a  dollar  a  piece — said  he 'd  stake  his 
repertation  on 't  they  wa'n't  half  cotton — and  no  more 
they  wa'n't,  for  come  to  dew  'em  up,  they  showed  out 
plain  enuff  that  they  was  all  cotton — did  you  ever? 
He  got  round  the  elder  tew — made  him  pay  five  dol- 
lars for  a  buzzum  pin — said  't  was  topiz  sot  in  gold, 
and  it  turned  out  to  be  yaller  glass  with  a  pinchback 
rim  round  it.  I  was  clear  out  o'  pashence  with  the 
elder  for  bein'  so  green — ^but  sittiwated  as  I  was  1 
couldent  say  nothin'  ye  know.  If  ever  I  come  acrost 
Jabe  Clark  agin,  if  he  don't  ketch  it,  no  matter.  But 
I 'm  wonderful  bizzy  about  these  days — and  so  no 
more  at  present  from  your  affectionate  mother, 

Prissilla  p.  Bedott. 

P.  S.  Give  my  love  to  Jubiter.  I 'm  gratified  to 
hear  that  the  baby  is  so  forrard.  What  do  you  calki- 
late  to  call  him  ?  I  hope  it  won't  be  Jubiter — for 
somehow  I  don't  egzactly  like  the  name,  tho'  it  sounds 
well  for  a  man.  But  don't  in  all  favor  name  him  art^ 


188  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

yer  par.  Ilezekier's  an  awful  name.  How  do  ye 
like  Shadrack  ?  That 's  the  name  o'  his  grandfather 
that's  to  be.  Yer  uncle  and  aunt  and  Jeff  sends 
love.  P.  p.  B. 

P.  S.  Yer  cousin  Jeff  axed  permission  to  read  this 
letter,  and  he  says  I  hain't  told  you  who  I 'm  gwine 
to  be  married  tew,  nor  when  the  weddin'  's  to  be, 
nor  nothin'.  But 't  ain't  to  be  wondered  at  that  I 
forgot,  for  I  Ve  got  such  a  numerous  number  o'  things 
to  think  on  now.  My  future  companion  is  the 
Baptist  minister  o'  this  place — by  the  name  o'  Elder 
Sniffles.  The  way  we  come  acquainted  was  quite 
singular.  You  see  I  took  to  attendin'  his  meetin' 
because  the  Presbyterian  minister  here  is  such  small 
potaters  that 't  wa'n't  eddifyin'  for  me  to  set  under  his 
preachin',  and  understandin'  that  Elder  Sniffles  w^as  a 
very  gifted  man  I  thought  I  'd  go  to  hear  him. 
"Well,  I  liked  him  wonderful  well,  he's  a  powerful 
speaker  and  his  prayers  is  highly  interestin'.  So  I 
goes  to  hear  him  a  number  o'  times.  He  obsarved 
me  and  was  evidently  pleased  with  me — but  during 
all  the  time  I  was  creatin'  such  a  sensation  in  his 
feelins  I  never  knowd  but  w^hat  he  had  a  wife.  How 
I  did  feel  when  I  found  out  he  was  a  wdddiwer.  I 
was  dretfully  flustrated,  and  kep  myself  as  scarce  as 
possible.  But  he  follered  me  up  and  parsevered,  till 
at  last  I  consented  to  accept  o'  him.    It 's  mellancoUy 


WEITES   TO  HER  DAUGHTER. 


189 


to  be  alone  in  the  world,  and  then  ministers  don't 
grow  on  every  bush.  The  weddin'  is  to  take  place 
next  week  a  Wensdaj  evenin'  at  yer  uncle's.  Elder 
Yawpers,  from  Slabtown,  is  to  reform  the  ceremony 
and  preach  in  Elder  Sniffleses  place  the  next  Sabbath 
when  we  're  gone. 

The  elder  Hves  in  a  gamble  rufft  yallar  house.  I 
mean  to  make  him  put  wings  to 't  and  make  it  look 
ruther  more  fashionable.  It  stans  on  a  descendin' 
elevation  that  slants  down  to  the  canawl  on  the  one 
side,  and  not  fur  behind  it  is  a  morantio  grove.  He 
hain't  no  family  but  a  little  highty  tighty  gal  that  they 
brought  up.  I  tell  ye  if  I  don't  make  her  stan'  round 
when  I  get  there  I 'm  mistaken.  We  shall  start  for 
Wiggletown  a  Thursday,  in  the  stage — and  git  there, 
I  s'pose,  Saturday  evenin'.  Now  Melissy  Smith  re- 
member you  're  to  keep  it  a  profound  secret.  I  don't 
want  nobody  in  Wiggletown  to  know  a  word  about 
it  till  they  see  us  come  a  walkin'  into  meetin'.  If  you 
anser  this  afore  we  come,  direct  to  the  Eeverend  Mlrs. 
Snifaes. 

Your  affectionate  mar,        P.  P.  Bedott, 

(till  next  week). 

P.  S.  I  Ve  writ  an  elegy  on  my  marriage  that  Jeff 
thinks  is  one  o'  my  best  poims.  He 's  gwine  to  send 
it  to  be  printed  in  the  "  Scrabble  Hill  Luminary,"  right 
under  the  marriage  notice.    He 's  a  keepin'  it  from 


190 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS 


his  par  and  mar,  cause  they  hain't  no  sense  o  poitry— 
yer  aunt  espeshelly  has  always  disencurridged  my 
writin'  for  the  papers.    But  she  can't  help  herself. 

P.  R  B. 

[Frcm  the  Scrabble  Hill  Luminary.] 

Married. — In  this  village  on  Wedensday,  the  20th 
inst.,  by  the  Eev.  Elder  Yawpei-s,  of  Slabtown,  the 
Kev.  O.  Shadrack  Sniffles,  of  Scrabble  Hill,  to  Mrs. 
Priscilla  p.  Bedott,  relict  of  the  late  Deacon  Heze- 
kiah  Bedott,  Esq.,  of  Wiggletown. 

The  fair  bride  has  sent  us  the  following  morceaii — 
which  our  readers  will  unite  with  us  in  pronouncing 
equal  to  a  former  effusion  from  the  same  gifted  pen. 
We  wish  the  happy  pair  all  the  felicity  which  theij 
distinguished  abilities  so  richly  merit. — Eds.  Lum 

TO  SHADRACK. 

Prissilla  the  fair  and  Shadrack  the  wise, 

Have  united  their  fortunes  in  the  tenderest  of  ties ; 

And  being  mutually  joined  in  the  matrimonial  conaectior 

Have  bid  adoo  to  their  previous  affliction. 

No  more  "will  they  mourn  their  widdered  sittiwation, 
And  continner  to  sythe  without  mitigation ; 
But  pardners,  for  life  to  be  parted  no  more, 
Their  sorrers  is  eeuded,  their  troubles  is  o'er. 

O  Shadrack,  my  Shadrack !   Prissilla  did  speak, 
While  the  rosy  red  blushes  surmantled  her  cheek, 
And  the  tears  of  affection  bedoozled  her  eye, 

0  Shadrack,  my  Shadra<ik  1  I 'm  yourn  till  I  die 

The  heart  that  was  scornful  and  cold  as  a  stun, 
Has  surrendered  at  last  to  the  fortinit  one ; 
Farewell  to  the  miseries  atid  griefs  I  have  had, 

1  '11  never  desert  thee,  O  Shadrack,  my  Shad  I 


XIX. 


J^EFT  Scrabble  Hill  this  mornin'  in  the  stage  for 
Libertyville.  Felt  like  death  about  leavin'  my 
beloved  companion,  but  he  insisted  on 't ;  said 't  would 
be  onpleasant  for  me  to  stay  to  hum  while  the  par- 
sonage was  undergwine  repairs ;  and,  besides  the 
journey 'd  be  for  my  health  ;  so  at  last  I  yealded  to 
conformity  and  went.  'T  was  determined  I  should 
visit  the  Crippinses,  at  Libertyville — Mrs.  Crippin  bein' 
my  husband's  cousin. 

The  momin  was  derlicious,  and  Aurory  shone  with 
undiminished  lusture.  The  feathered  songsters  wob- 
bled in  the  groves  :  the  breezes  was  ladened  with  the 
fragrance  of  ten  thousand  flowers,  while  natur  seemed 
to  vie  with  creation  to  render  the  scene  one  of  unmit- 
igated splendor.  But  I  scercely  noticed  it  a  bit ;  for  I 
wa'n't  in  a  sittiwation  to  enjoy  it  a  mite.  Alas  I  my 
hull  soul  was  with  Shadrack. 

Ther  wa'n't  but  tew  individiwals  besides  me  in  the 
Btatge,  and  they  was  men  folks.    I  should  a  found  the 


192  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


journey  awful  tejus  if  I  hadent  amused  myself 
courtin'  the  muses,  as  Shadrack  calls  it.  I  had  a  pen- 
cil and  a  piece  o'  paper  in  my  ridicule,  and  I  axed  one 
o'  the  gentlemen  to  lend  me  his  hat  to  write  on.  He 
handed  it  out  very  perlitely,  and  I  composed  the  fol- 
lerin' stanzys: 

rO   MY    OWN  ONE, 

/arewell  to  Scrabble  Hill ! 

Farewell  to  my  dear  Shad  I 
T.  leave  you  much  against  my  will. 

And  so  I  feel  quite  bad. 

0  Shadrack  think  o'  me 
When  I  am  far  away ; 

1  sartingly  shall  think  o'  thee 
Wherever  I  do  stray. 

Adoo  1  a  fond  adoo ! 

Dear  pardner  o'  my  heart. 
The  idee  o'  comin'  back  to  you 

Sustains  me  while  we  part. 

0  if  my  Shad  should  be 
Onwell  while  I 'm  from  homo, 

1  shall  feci  most  onpleasanuee, 
And  wish  I  had  n't  a  come. 

But  I  will  hope  and  pray 

That  we  may  both  be  able 
To  meet  agin  some  futur  day, 

Alive  and  comfortable. 

Every  thing  conspired  to  remind  me  of  my  ahsc?nt 
one.  The  men  that  was  my  feller  passengers  smoked 
the  heft  o'  the  time.  My  Shadrack  loves  his  pipe,  and 
it  does  me  so  much  good  to  see  him  enjoy  it.    The  in- 


THE   REV.   MRS.   SNIFFLES   ABROAD.  193 


divviddiwal  that  lent  me  his  hat  brought  him  verj^  for- 
cibly to  mj  mind.  He  was  drest  in  black,  and  had  a 
wonderful  dignified  and  thoughtful  cast  of  expression. 
I  made  up  my  mind  he  was  a  clargyman  as  soon  as  I 
sot  eyes  on  him ;  so  when  I  handed  back  his  hat  1 
ventured  to  inquire  where  his  field  o'  labor  was.  He 
hem'd  and  haw'd,  and  seem'd  ruther  imbarrised.  So  I 
sayS;  says  I,  "  I  s'pose  I  ain't  mistaken  in  takin'  you 
for  a  clargyman  ?" 

But  afore  he  had  time  to  answer,  t'  other  one — ho 
was  quTte  a  young  man — spoke  up,  and  says  he, 

You  're  right,  marm — it 's  the  Eeverend  Mr.  Beadle, 
of  Punkin  Hook." 

And  this  is  my  principal  deacon,  Mr.  Snobs," 
says  Mr.  Beadle. 

So  I  told  'em  who  I  was ;  and  after  the  ice  was 
broke,  we  had  considerable  interestin'  conversation  on 
a  ru4?iber  o'  tropics,  espeshealy  on  the  state  o'  religion 
in  this  section,  particklarly  in  our  respectable  places 
of  abode.  They  seem'd  wonderful  grieved  at  the  in- 
ikity  that  prevails  in  our  midst.  Informed  me  that 
they 'd  jest  ben  attendin'  a  convention  to  suppress  the 
railroads  runnin'  a  Sabberdays.  They  never  travel'd 
on  %  cause  it  dident  lay  by  a  Sabberdays. 

They  seem'd  to  be  very  much  interested  in  me.  1 
show'd  'em  the  poetry  I 'd  ben  writin'  which  they  was 
V'onderfully  struck  with.    Brother  Beadle  proposed 
on  't  to  music,  and  all  on  us  singin'  it  together. 


194 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


The  deacon  thought 't  would  go  in  "  Away  with  rnel- 
lancolly :"  but  not  bein'  conversant  with  that  tune,  I 
proposed  "  Iladdam  " — a  great  favorite  o'  mine.  They 
said  they 'd  amost  forgot  Haddam ;  so  I  sung  one  stan- 
zy  to  show  'em  how  it  went,  and  then  we  all  put  to 
and  sung  it  together.  They  dident  make  out  very 
well  I  dident  think ;  dident  keep"  no  time ;  seem'd  to 
be  what  Jeff  Magwiro  calls  independent  singers^  that  is, 
each  one  went  intirely  on  his  own  hook,  without  pay- 
in'  no  attention  to  the  rest.  But  no  doubt  they  done 
the  best  they  could,  and  I  hadent  ought  to  find  fault. 

The  deacon  requested  me  to  give  him  the  poim,  in 
order  to  have  it  printed  in  the  "  Punkin  Hook  Patriot 
and  Journal."    After  some  hesitation  I  consented. 

At  Pukin  Hook  my  interestin'  feller  travelers  got 
out.  I  regretted  partin',  and  so  did  they.  I  invited 
Brother  Beadle  to  come  to  Scrable  Hill  and  preach 
for  us  sometime.  He  squeezed  my  hand,  and  -said  he 
was  delighted  to  have  met  with  such  a  sister  in  IsraeJ 
— ^he  never  should  forget  the  refreshin'  season  he 'd 
enjoyed  in  my  society. 

The  rest  o  the  way  to  Liberty  ville  I  waa  the  onl*- 
passenger ;  but 't  wa'n't  no  great  distance.  Jest  as  the 
horrizon  was  sinkin'  behind  the  western  skies,  I  arri? 
at  Cousin  Crippinses.  When  I  told  'em  who  I  w^as 
they  received  me  with  open  arms,  for  they  set  a  grc^Eil 
deal  y  the  elder.  They^rc  elderly  people,  very  well 
off ;  hain't  no  family  but  a  sor.  and  daughter,  ""^lotV 


THE   BEY.   MRS.   SNIPFLES   ABROAD.  195 

manied  and  settled.  The  daugliter  lives  in  tlie  same 
pkce,  is  iDarried  to  a  risia'  doctor  by  the  name  o' 
Briggs.  In  short,  I  think  I  should  be  quite  contented 
here  if  my  beloved  companion  was  only  with  me. 
But  the  accumulatin'  shadders  o'  night,  aggravated  by 
the  descendm'  of  my  candle  into  the  socket,  warns  mo 
that  it  is  time  to  seek  my  piller,  and  resiisticate  ex 
austed  nater  by  repose. 

0  for  a  sight  o'  Shadrack's  face, 

To  shine  amid  the  gloom ! 
To  mitigate  this  lonesome  place, 

And  shed  a  sweet  perfume. 

Wed-night. — Agin  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  re- 
cord the  occurrences  that  have  occurred  durin'  the  day. 
I  riz  at  an  arly  hour,  and  sallied  forth  into  Cousin 
Crippinses  garding  to  vIoav  the  works  of  natur.  O 
how  it  expends  and  illuminates  the  religious  affections 
to  contemplate  the  wonders  of  creation.  The  pinies 
was  all  in  full  blow,  and  the  yallar  lilies  riz  up  strait 
and  stiff  to  court  the  revigoratin'  atmosphere.  Also 
the  cabbidgf^  leaves  was  a  glitterin'  with  dew  drops, 
and  looked  like  ever  so  many  fans  kivered  with  span- 
gles. My  hull  soul  was  evaporatin'  with  delightful 
meditation,  when  cousin  Crippin  blowd  the  horn  for 
breakfast,  and  I  was  obleeged  to  go  in,  though  I 'd  ten 
times  ruther  a  stayed  there  than  to  eat.  Cousin  Crip 
pin  sets  a  tolerable  good  table — makes  fust  rate  coffy, 
though  I  must  say  I  can  beat  her  on  griddle  cakes , 


196 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


wonder  wlictlier  she  spunges  'em  over  night :  doiVt  be- 
lieve she  does  ;  can't  have  good  griddle  cnkeswithoui 
spungin.'  'em,  accordin'  to  my  v/ay  o'  thinkin'. 

This  afternoon  Cousin  Crippinscs  daughter,  Mrs. 
Briggs,  she 't  was  Susan  Ann  Crippin,  called  on  me ; 
ruther  an  or  nary  looking  woman,  but  quite  ginteel 
and  intellectible.  The  Crippinses  had  told  me  so 
much  about  her  that  1  was  prepared  to  be  wonder- 
t'ully  struck  up  with  her.    She  writes  poetry  for  the 

Liberty  ville  Eeflector."  She  invited  me  to  attend  a 
literary  swearee  at  her  sittiwation  to-morrer  evenin'. 
She  says  they  hold  their  swearees  once  a  fortnight,  and 
she  thinks  they  have  a  great  attendancy  to  elevate  the 
tone  o'  societ}',  and  axed  if  \ve  had  any  such  thing  at 
Scrabble  Ilill.  I  told  her  no,  that  they  was  pretty 
high  strung  ther  already,  and  dident  need  nothin*  to 
elevate  their  tone.  She  smiled  at  this  observation, 
and  remarked  that  I  was  rather  sarcastical. 

She  said  they  dident  a';imit  none  to  membership 
without  they 'd  had  something  printed ;  bu";  others 
was  sometimes  invited  to  attend  and  enjoy  the  benefit 
of  the  intellectible  feast.  And  they 'd  be  happy  to 
see  me.  I 'd  have  the  pleasure  o'  meetin'  a  number  of 
literary  charicters ;  among  'em  "Xell  Nox,"  the  cele- 
brated critic,  and  Kate  Kenype,"  the  well-known 
and  greatly  admired  advocate  of  women.  She  pre- 
sumed I 'd  heerd  of  'em  both.  jSTell  Nox"  was  very 
Bcvere,  very  sarcastical,  very,  indeed.    I  told  her  I 'd 


THE  REV.   MRS.   SNIFFLES  ABROAD. 


197 


a  nutnber  o'  poims  printed  myself.  Slie  lookt  quite 
sftrprised,  and  I  confess  I  was  surprisder  yet  that  slie 
hadent  seen  or  heerd  o'  my  pieces  in  the  "  Scrabble 
Hill  Luminary."  On  the  hull,  I  was  ruther  disap- 
pointed in  Cousin  Briggs.  But  I  mean  to  go  to  that 
swearee  any  how,  if  nothin'  Lappens.  But  we  *re 
poor  short  sighted  mortals. 

« 

Poor  ignorant  critters  we  I 

To  our  sliort-siglited  race 
Tilings  fatur  in  life's  mystery 

And  like  cnougli  never  '11  take  place. 

'Fpjday^ — Last  night  attended  the  literary  swearee 
at  Cousia  Briggses.  and  was  highly  intertained.  Ther 
was  ten  or  a  dozen  present,  and  four  on  'em  had  orig- 
inal productions.  The  most  ex  tinguished  article  was 
the  Widder  Eeade's.  She  Fign3  her  perductions 
"Kell  Nos."  She's  a  very  flenh}^  woman,  with  a 
wonderful  i^mall  head.  I  took  particular  notice  of 
her  'cause  she  '3  so  notorious  in  a  literary  point  o' 
view.  She  had  a  singlar  lookin'  head-dress  stuck  atop 
of  her  head.  Her  nose  is  awful  locg,  and  turns  up 
at  the  eend ;  very  handy,  saves  her  the  trouble  o' 
turnin'  on 't  it  up  every  time  she  reads  a  poor  piece  o' 
poetry,  and  she  don't  sccrii  to  read  no  other  exceptin' 
Cousin  Briggses.  She  was  drest  in  a  sky  blue  muslin 
dress  v/itli  flounces  almost  up  to  her  waist,  that  made 
her  look  shorter  and  Heshjer  than  she  acluly  was. 
She  liad  a  dretful  severe  critisism  on  the  ATx\r.''^<ii) 


198  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

poits,  espesliially  a  certing  long-feller,  as  slie  called  hiLti, 
some  tall  iudiwidiwal  I  s'pose.  She  cut  him  all 
pieces,  declaring  that  he  had  never  writ  a  line  that 
could l)e  call  poitry  in  all  his  born  daj's  She  said 
that  his  Eve  Angeline  vas  a  perfectly  nonsensical 
humbug.  I  presume  that 's  some  young  woman  he 's 
ingaged  to.  I  thought  if  she  was  a  mind  to  whale 
away  aginst  ^he  lang-feJler  she  might,  but  che  might  a  let 
liis  intended  alone.  Cousin  Susan  Ann  axed  me  after- 
wards  if  I  dident  think  In  ell  Nox  was  awful  cuttin'. 
She  said  sJie  shouldent  like  to  come  under  her  lash. 
She  wondered  what  long-feller 'd  say  when  lie  zome  to 
see  that  critisism,  as  he  ondoubtedJy  would,  for 
't  would  come  out  in  "  The  Reflector*'  aforo  long ;  'NeV 
contribbits  to  that  paper.  Thinksme  I  ;.un't  afeared  of 
her ;  I  guess  she  '11  change  her  sentiments  when  she 
hears  my  piece.  She  '11  think  ther  is  such  a  thing  aa 
poitry  in  Ameriky  then.  For  I  had  in  my  pocket  the 
stanzys  I  writ  in  the  stage — I 'd  brought  ^em  along, 
thinkin'  like  enough  I  should  be  called  on  to  read 
something. 

The  editor  of  The  Reflector  "  was  there ;  )ie 's  presi- 
dent of  the  swearocs.  A  wonderful  small,  jandery- 
lookin'  young  man,  with  blazin'  red  hair^  and  exceed- 
inly  pompous,  but  oncommon  talented.  He  had  an 
article  on  the  prospects  of  the  literary  horizon  through- 
out the  world.  His  sentiments  diifercd  from  ISTell 
Noxes  inasmuch  as  he  held  that  Ameriky  was  the 


THE   REV-.   MES.   S  N  I  F    L  F. ABROAD.  199 


only  countrj  where  poitry  had  reached  the  hight  of 
its  zenith.  To  prove  it,  he  brought  forrard  Cousin 
Bris:o:ses  writias.  said  that  even  ISTell  N'ox,  the  severest 
critic  of  the  age,  spared  her;  ther  wa'n't  nothing  in 
her  poitry  that  no  critic  could  git  hold  of.  lie  wound 
up,  at  last,  by  glorifyin',  in  a  most  eloquent  manner, 
that  both  o'  these  remarkable  writers  were  contribbit- 
crs  to  his  paper. 

!N"ext  come  Cousin  Susan  Ann  Briggs  with  her  article. 
'T  was  a  very  affectin'  poim  on,  the  death  o'  Deacon 
Paine's  daughter.  I  don't  remember  but  one  stanzy, 
and  that  come  in  at  the  eend  of  every  alternative 
verse.    It  runs  thus  : 

Fond  parents  weep  for  me  no  more, 

That  I  no  more  am  given ; 
We  '11  surely  shall  meet  when  life  is  ore, 

High  up  above  in  heaven. 

I  must  ax  Cousin  Briggs  for  a  cop  y  on 't,  it 's  very 
good,  though  I  actilly  think  I  can  jeat  it ;  't  ain't  for 
me  to  say  so,  however.  Her  newspaper  name  is 
*'FenellaFitzallen." 

The  last  indiwidiwal  that  read  was  an  olderly  young 
woman,  named  Samanthy  Ilocum,  a  wonderful  tall, 
slab-sided,  coarse  lookin'  critter.  Her  hair  looked 
singular,  't  was  all  raked  back  off  her  forrard,  and 
made  her  phizmahogany  look  amazin'  broad  and 
brazen.  She  certainly  was  oncommon  odd  and  ornary 
lOokin'.    Had  on  a  red  calico  dress,  and  a  queer  kind 


200  TVIDO^   3ED0TT  PAPERS. 

of  a  bobtailed  little  thing,  made  o'  g^reen  nilk .  with 
brass  buttons  down  it.  Take  ncr  altogether,  she  was 
about  as  singular  a  critter  in  her  appearance  as  i  Vo 
seen  in  some  time.  But  she 's  oncommon  smart.  She 
had  an  article  on  the  subject  o'  "Woman's  Hights." 
'T  was  a  powerful  perduction.  She  hild  that  the  men 
hadent  no  bizness  to  monopolize  every  thing,  and 
trammil  the  female  sect.  I  thought  to  myself  they 
hadent  showed  no  great  disposition  to  trammil  her  so 
far.  She  writes  for  the  "Pidgin  Pint  Eecord  of 
Genius,"  and  signs  Kate  Kenype. 

Them  was  all  the  articles  that  was  read  last  night, 
though  ther  was  several  more  literary  indiwidiwals 
ther.  A  fat,  pudden-faced  young  man  that  writes 
poetry  for  the  "Newville  Star  and  Trumpet,"  and 
signs  "Phil  Philpotts."  And  then  ther  was  a  ruther 
good  lookin'  young  woman  that  writes  the  amusia' 
articles  for  the  same  paper,  and  signs  'em  "  Betsy  But- 
tertub,"  and  some  more,  but  I  disremember  their  news- 
paper names. 

After  the  readin'  was  over,  the  company  diverted 
the  time  till  the  refreshments  come  in  to  walkin'  round 
and  round  through  the  foldin'  doors  to  the  hall,  and 
then  from  the  hall  through  the  foldin'  doors  agin,  as 
if  ther  lives  depended  on  't.  The  editor,  he  walked 
with  Nell  Nox,  and  Phil  Philpotts  with  Betsy  But- 
tertub,  and  Kate  Kenype,  she  stramanaded  round  alone, 
wonderful  independent.    I  sot  on  the  sofy  and  talked 


THE  REV.   MRS     SNIFFi^ES  ABROAD.  201 

to  the  Briggses  till  I  goi  as  dizzy  . as  a  fool,  ssein'  'em 
go  round  and  round.  I  wanted  to  read  my  poim,  and 
I  seed  plainly  that  Cousin  Susan  Ann  dident  mean  to 
ax  me  to  (^houldent  Tronder  if  slie  vv^as  a  little  jealous). 
So  I  determined  I  T7ouid  read  it  whether  or  no ;  so 
when  the  company  sot  down  to  take  refreshment,  I 
speaks  up  and  says,  that  seein^  I 'd  ben  so  eddiHed 
myself,  I  thought  I 'd  ought  to  contribute  my  share  co 
the  evenin's  intertainment ;  and  then  without  furder 
ado,  I  takes  out  my  piece  and  reads  it.  'T  was  very 
much  admii^ecl.  Nell  Kox  declared  'twas  what  she 
called  poitry,  and  the  editor  requested  a  coppy  on 't  to 
put  in  "  The  Eeflector."  I  gi'a  it  tew  him.  It  dident 
strike  me  till  after  I  got  hum  that  I 'd  gi'n  it  the 
Eeverend  Mr.  Beadle,  to  be  printed  in  the  "  Punkin 
Hook  Patriot  and  J'ournal."  So  I  s'pose  the  tew 
papers  'li  be  accusin'  one  another  o'  stealin'  on 't,  and 
there  '11  he  a  reglar  newspaper  quarril  about  it ;  and 
I  shall  be  drawn  into  public  notice  in  j?  manner  very 
iinbarrassin'  to  my  retirin'  disposition.  But  I  can't 
help  it.  "We  literary  characters  must  expect  to  be 
subjected'  to  a  great  m.any  more  onpleasant  things  than 
falls  o  the  lot  o'  privit  indiwidiwals — it 's  the  fate  o' 
genius. 

Don't  know  but  v/hat  I 'd  try  git  up  a  Literary 
Swearee  gocitty  in  Scrabble  Hill,  if  I  dident  s'pose 
Sally  Hiigle  'd  make  herself  so  conspickiwous  in  it. 
But  I  know  she  would.    She 's  so  awful  vain,  and 

9* 


202  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PiVPERS. 

thinks  lierself  such  an  amazin'  poitess,  though  a3  to 
that,  every  body  knows  she  can't  write,  I  feel  Idndei 
sorry  for  her,  she  mistakes  her  calling  so.  I  should 
lament  to  have  her  make  such  a  laffin'  stock  of  herself, 
as  she  would  if  ther  was  any  literary  dewdns  there. 

Saturday  Evexixg. — Larnt  to-day,  through  Dr. 
Briggs,  and  by  a  long  chain  o'  circumstances  tew  nu- 
merous to  be  detailed  here,  that  the  indiwidiwals  that 
past  themselves  off  for  a  clargyman  and  deacon  in  the 
stage,  was  nothing  but  a  couple  of  hoss  dealers  from 
Yarmount,  with  no  more  sense  o'  religion  than  tlie 
animals  they  trade  in.  0,  't  is  mellancoly  !  I  feel  to 
lament  that  human  natar  should  be  sunk  to  such  a 
turrible  a  pitch  as  to  deceave  a  reverend  lady  co  aw- 
fuUj^  I  pitty  the  poor  degraded^  deluded  critters 
from  the  bottom  o'  my  heart.  I  hope  they  may 
have  grace  and  space  to  repent.  To  think  o'  my  bein' 
so  took  in !  Well,  they  '11  have  it  to  answer  for, 
that 's  a  comfort.  But  I  hope  they  '11  be  icd  to  see 
ther  sinfulness  afore  it 's  tew  late.  To  think  o'  my 
lettin'  'em  have  my  poitry  tew,  that  galls  me.  I  wish 
they'd  steal  v.^-iae  hosses  and  be  cook  up  and  sent  to 
the  states  pi^..-^;;,  the  misiTable  wrecches--:but  I  for- 
give 'em— I  always  forgive — I  never  lay  up  nothing 
aginst  nobody — the  consarnid  critters  I 

To-morrer  '11  be  Sunday — intend  to  go  to  meetin' 
if  I  can  command  my  feelins  sufficient.    But  ondonb^ 


THE   REV.   MRS.   SNIFFLES   ABROAD.  203 


edly  I  sTiall  be  all  day  a  counterastin'  the  preacher 
with  my  companion,  and  so  sha'n't  enjoy  my  mind, 
and  have  as  refreshin'  a  season  as  I  otherways  shouliL 

Agin  the  sa?rod  day 

Of  sacred  rest  lias  come, 
And  to  ray  inmost  feelins  brings 

My  Sliadrack's  image  hum. 

I'd  ruther  spend  the  day 

With  him  than  where  I  am, 
A  hearin'  of  him  preach  and  pray, 

And  givin'  out  the  pslana. 


XX 


®!]^  S^h.  Itrs,  Snifflu  al  |0mc. 

"  J  MUST  sJiow  ye  my  daggertype,  sister  Magwire, 
tliat  I  had  took  while  I  was  gone." 

"  I  want  to  know  if  you  Ve  got  one  o'  them  things ! 
I 've  heerd  about  'em,  and  had  a  great  curiosity  to  sec 
'em.    Pray  how  do  they  take  'em  ?" 

^'  Well,  I  '11  tell  ye.  Sal !  Sal  Blake,  come  in  here ! 
Why  don't  ye  never  start  some  time  or  other  when  I 
call  ye?  You  go  up  stairs  to  my  chamber,  and  fetch 
here  that  thin,:^  kivered  with  morocker,  that  lies  on 
the  stand.  Step  quick,  you — and  don't  ye  be  gone 
longer  'n  tiP  o.ext  day  after  to  morrer,  if  ye  can  help 
it.  And  he.'e!  don't  you  open  it — you  fetch  it  right 
straight  along  down — d'ye  hear.  That  young  one 
does  try  m.  r  :jatience  the  worst  way— she's  the  slowest 
o'  all  creai^^d  critters.  I  don't  b'  leve  it  done  her  any 
good  stayin'  with  you  i^hile  we  was  gone.  I  wish 
*;he  sider'd  a  sent  her  to  the  Widder  Grimeses — I 
guess  she 'd  a  made  her  fly  round.  I  don't  s'pose  you 
trained  her  a  mite." 

"  Well,  I  did  n't  see  lao  occasion  for  it.  She  seemed 


THE   REV.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  AT   HOME.  205 

willin'  enough  to  dew  without  drivin'.  And  besides, 
I  don't  approve  o'  workin'  half-grown  gals  so  hard  as 
stoie  folks  dew.  It  stunts  em,  and  injures  their  con- 
stitutions." 

"  I  declare,  if  that  ain't  a  bright  idee !  jist  as  if— 
As  true  as  natur,  there  she  comes !  What 's  got  into 
ye,  Sal,  to  make  ye  so  spry  all  of  a  sudding  ?  I  guess 
y3  seen  a  ghost  on  the  stairway,  did  n't  ye  ?  There 
Sister  Magwire,  isn't  tliat  strikin'  ?  Sal,  you  huzzy ! 
where 's  yer  manners?  don't  ye  know  no  better 'n  to 
be  a  gawpin'  over  Miss  Magwire's  shoulders  ?  go  into 
the  kitchin — budge !" 

Why  Sister  Sniffles,  dew  let  the  poor  child  look 
at  it — what  harm  '11  it  dew  ?" 

Sister  Magwire,  I  wish  yon  would  n't  interfere  in 
my  domestic  arrangements — Sal,  you  put  for  the 
Icitchin,  and  finish  pearin'  them  apples  and  when 
ye 've  got  'em  done,  take  hold  and  scour  them  pans — 
and  don't  ye  stop  to  look  out  o'  the  winder — and  as 
soon  as  ye  git  done  scourin'  the  pans,  come  hei^-,  and 
1  '11  tell  ye  what  to  do  next.  I  rather  guess  I  '11  larn 
that  critter  to  know  her  place,  afore  I 've  ben  here 
much  longer.  She  hain't  never  had  no  instruction 
about  what  belongs  to  her  sittiwation,  at  all." 

Poor  thing  I  don'a  blame  her,  I 'm  sure.  You 
know.  Miss  Sniffles,  the  elder's  first  wife,  brought  her 
up  as  it  she  was  her  own  daughter." 

Well,  I  mean  to  show  her  the  diJBference  betwixt 


tlOQ  WIDOW    BEDOTT  TAPERS. 

genteel  folks  and  tliem  that 's  born  to  be  underlin's 
But  ain't  that  a  wonderful  strikin'  picter?" 

"  It  is,  actillv  ;  looks  as  nat'ral  as  life — especially 
the  elder's  specs  and  your  cap." 

"  I  had  a  couple  more  just  like  it  took  at  the  sarric 
time:  one  for  Melissj,  and  t'other  for  Sam  Pender- 
grasses  wife.  I  think  the  position's  \ery  interestin* 
— me  a  leanin'  on  the  elder's  shoulder,  and  holdin' 
hold  o'  his  hand." 

"  They  must  cost  a  good  deal — don't  see  how  you 
could  afford  it." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  ye  how 't  was — 't  was  a  cur  us  cir- 
cumstance. At  Miss  Pendergrasses  party — see,  I 
hain't  told  ye  about  her  makin'  a  party  for  us,  I  guess ; 
well,  she  did,  and  it  was  a  reglar  kind  o'  a  would-if- 
ye-could  consarn,  jist  such  as  she  always  m.akes  out 
when  she  tries  to  cut  a  spludge.  But  Sam's  wife 
meant  well  enough.  And  on  the  hull 't  was  quite 
pleasant.  Most  o'  my  old  acquaintances  was  there : 
Major  Coon  and  his  wife,  pompious  as  ever;  Mr. 
Crane  and  his  wife — she 't  was  Kesier  Winkle.  She 
don't  paint  her  face  no  more  now  her  market 's  made 
— ^looks  wonderful  humbly.  And  there  was  old  Daw- 
sou  and  his  wife — Widder  Jinkins,  ye  know — ^he 
'twas  Poll  Bingham.  She  and  Miss  Coon  had  their 
heads  together  half  the  evenin',  a  whisperin'  about 
me  and  the  elder.  But  I  did  n't  care — I  tell  ye,  I  hild 
my  head  as  high  as  any  on  'em,  if  not  a  hdle  grain 


THE  REV.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  AT  HOME,  207 

higher.  Ther  was  a  great  deal  o'  notice  took  o'  me 
and  the  elder.  He  talked  up  and  made  considerable 
o'  a  sensation.  I  told  him  aforehand  to  do  his  pnr- 
tiest,  for  I  wanted  old  E-aw£on's  wife  to  see 't  I 'd  got 
a  pardner  ruther  al>ove  a  common  plow-jogger,  such 
as  hern  is.  And  I  guess  she  felt  it  some,  for  she 
looked  i^ighty  spiteful:  While  the  elder  was  a  talkin', 
she  kept  a  hunchiri  Miss  ooon,  and  grinnin'.  Sam 
Pendergrasses  wife  said  she  obsarved  to  her  that  she 
should  think  I'd  be  in  a  constant  state  o'  consarn 
about  the  elder,  for  fear  he'd  git  choaked  with  a  big 
word  stickin'  in  his  throat.  Miss  Pendergrass  said 
she  woaldn't  care  a  cent  about  it,  if  she  was  me;  for 
'twas  plain  enough  'twa'n't  nothin'  but  envy  because 
her  husband  could  n't  talk  so." 

-'But  you  was  gwine  to  tell  about  them  dagger- 
ty^es.'' 

"  0  yes.  "VVell,  Sam  Pendergrasses  wife  axed  Miss 
Coon  to  play  on  the  planner.  They 've  got  a  planner 
for  Ann  Elizy — apiece  o'  extravagance  in  my  opinion 
— don'-'^  see  how  Sam  Pendergrass  can  afford  such 
things — ^besides,  I  don't  b'leve  Ann  Elizy  '11  ever 
make  much  of  a  musicianer,  for  she  can't  play  but  a 
few  tunes  yit,  and  she 's  ben  a  t akin' lessons  amost 
three  months.  I  spent  the  day  there  one  day,  and 
she  thumpt  away  on  the  consarnid  thing  half  the  time. 
'T  was  enough  to  split  a  body's  skull  open.  Well, 
Miss  Coon  she  sot  down  to  the  pianner — and  o  all 


208 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEllS. 


fbingsl  I  wish  jou  could  a  ben  there!  If  *twaVt 
ldlUn\  then  no  matter.  She  throw  back  her  head, 
and  she  rolled  up  her  eyes,  and  she  thrum  *d  it  off 
"with  the  tips  o'  her  fingers.  But  good  gracious !  her 
singin' !  you 'd  a  gin  up,  I  know,  if  you 'd  a  heerd  it  I 
The  way  she  squawked  it  out  was  a  caution  to  old 
gates  on  a  windy  day  !  See,  what  was  it  she  sung : 
O,  I  remember — a  dretful  nonsensical  thing,  that  kej^i 
a  sayin'  every  little  while  '  Jimmeni  fondly  thine 
own.'    I  was  perfectly  dizgusted." 

"But  what  has  all  that  to  dew  with  the  dagger- 
types  ?'* 

Well,  I  was  a  gwine  to  tell — ^^vhy  can't  ye  nnve 
patience  ?  *"  I  was  settin'  right  by  the  pianner  when 
she  sung,  and  I  obsarved  that  she  had  on  a  wonderfuJ 
curus  buzzom-pin.  So,  after  she'd  got  done  her 
music,  and  gone  back  t'  other  side  o'  the  room,  I  says 
to  Melissy,  says  I,  what  a  sing'lar  lookin'  buzzum-pir 
Miss  Coon's  got  on — wonder  what  it's  made  oft 
'Why,  mar,'  says  she,  '  it 's  a  daggertype  o'  the  Major 
— did  n't  you  never  see  a  daggertype?"  *  No,'  says  1. 
*  but  I 've  heerd  o'  'em.'  So  Melissy  she  got  right  up, 
and  went  and  axed  Miss  Coon  if  she  woulr*  n't  be 
kind  enough  to  let  mar  see  her  pin.  I  vv^as  awful  mad 
at  Melissy — did  n't  want  that  stuck  up  critter  to  know 't 
I  noticed  her  pin — so  I  speaks  up,  and  I  says,  *  I  want 
ye  to  understand,  Miss  Coon,  that  I  didn't  request 
Miss  Smith  to  ax  ye  to  show  me  yer  pin.'    '  0,  law,' 


THE  REV.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  AT   HOME.  209 

Si^ys  she,  '  you.  I'e  perfectly  welcome  to  see  it.^  So  she 
unfastened  it,  and  handed  it  to  Melissy,  mighty  graci- 
ous, She 's  always  wonderful  polite  to  Melissy — don't 
know,  I  m  sure,  what 's  the  reason  she  treats  her  so 
much  better 'n  ever  she  did  me;  but  I  s'pose  ther 
ain't  nothin'  about  her  to  be  jealous  of.  Well,  Melissy 
she  fetched  it  o\  er,  and  I  could  n't  help  lookin'  at  it ; 
and  sure  enough,  '^.here  was  the  major,  nat'ral  as  life-, 
with  all  his  tranin*  regimentals  on — 't  was  complete. 
Miss  Coon  axed  me  how  I  liked  it.  'T  ain't  wonderful 
hansome/  says  I,  *but  it  looks  full  as  well  as  the 
major.'  Miss  Coon  turned  rather  red,  and 't  was  plain 
to  be  seen  she  felt  cut  up.  Meliss}^ — silly  thing — she 
kind  o*  wanted  to  plaster  over  what  I 'd  said,  so  she 
praised  it  up  to  the  skies — said  she  never  see  any 
thmg  so  perfect — and  axed  Miss  Coon  where 't  was 
took.  Miss  Coon  said  the  major  had  it  took  in 
Gambletown  a  few  days  afore.  Ther  was  a  gentleman 
stayin'  there  a  few  weeks,  that  done  'em  uncommon 
coTect.  *0,  mar,'  says  Melissy,  'I  heerd  the  eldei 
say  he  meant  to  go  home  by  the  way  o'  Gambletown 
— why  can't  yon  stop  and  have  yourn  and  the  elder's 
took  for  me?  Jubiter's  got  a  cousin  livin' there — a 
young  man  named  Jo  Baker,  and  he 's  a  comin'  out 
here  in  a  few  weeks.  You  can  leave  'em  with  him  to 
^etch;  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  I  '11  see  about  it.'  After  that, 
Melissy  she  teazed  us  till  we  promise  to  git  'em  foi 
her.    She  concluded  she 'd  like  to  have  us  represented 


210 


WIDOW  BEDOTT 


PAPERS. 


together  in  one  picter.  We 'd  maae  our  calcnlatiosa 
to  stop  in  Gamble  town  a  day  or  tew  on  our  way  liuni. 
The  elder  was  some  acquainted  with  Elder  Cumstork, 
the  minister  there — had  met  him  at  the  mcctin'  o'  tli3 
Baptist  Presbytery.  We  left  Wiggletown  a  Monday, 
went  round  by  Pidgin  Pint,  and  stopped  there  to- 
ward night.  The  elder  inquired  where  the  Baptist 
minister  lived,  and  Ave  w^ent  there.  We  had  n't  never 
heerd  o'  him  afore — but 't  was  better  to  go  there  chau 
to  have  a  tavern  bill  to  pay.  His  name  was  Elder 
Hawley.  The  elder  he  introduced  himself  cis  the 
Rev.  Elder  Sniffles,  from  Scrabble  Hill,  and  his  con- 
sort. Well,  brother  Hawley  invited  us  in  and  intro- 
duced us  to  his  wife.  She  was  a  sick  lookin'  woman, 
with  a  hull  raft  o'  young  ones  squallin'  round  her. 
'T  w^a'n't  very  pleasant  there,  they  did  n't  seem  to  be  in 
wonderful  good  circumstances.  But  they  treated  up 
very  polite,  and  we  staid  till  Thursday,  for  Brothe.: 
Hawley  was  a  holdin'  a  protracted  meetin',  and  invited 
the  elder  to  stay  awhile  and  assist.  A  Thursday  we 
come  on  to  Gambletown,  got  there  in  the  afternoon. 
Elder  Cumstork  was  very  glad  to  see  us,  and  so  was 
his  wife.  I  was  quite  surprised  when  I  seen  her,  for 
I  used  to  know  her  some.  Her  ijame  was  Mary 
Cushman.  She  used  to  keep  school  in  Wiggletown 
when  Meiissy  was  a  little  gal.  I  sent  her  to  I\IisH 
Cushman's  school.  Meiissy  liked  her  very  wel],  but 
I  never  thought  much  o'  her.    She  was  kind  o'  proud 


THE  KEY.  Mi  13.  SNIFFLES  AT  HOME.  211 

— could  n't  git  acquainted  with  Iier.  She  would  nH 
talk  about  nobody.  She  had  quite  a  quarrel  with 
the  Widder  Jinkins  about  Alvirj.  Miss  Jinldns  took 
Alvirj  out  o'  school.  There  was  a  great  deal  said 
abcrut  it.  Every  body  was  a  takin'  sides.  Miss  Jinkins 
went  all  around  blazin'  away  against  Miss  C ashman. 
But  I  could  n't  hear  o'  Miss  Cushman's  saying  any 
thing,  though  I  s'pose  Miss  Jinkins  did  abuse  hei 
shameflilly*  Well,  I  invited  her  to  di^ink  tea  at  our 
house  a  purpose  to  see  if  she  wouldn't  have  some- 
ihing  to  say  about  it,  but  she  never  opened  her  head. 
T  tried  my  best  to  draw  her  out — expressed  my  opin- 
ion o'  the  Widder  Jinkins  without  resarve.  But  still 
the  proYokin'  critter  never  said  a  syllable  about  the 
vnatter.  I  tell  you 't  was  the  last  time  I  axed  her  there 
%  tea.  1  was  disgusted  with  her.  I  took  quite  a  dis- 
like tew  her,  and  when  she  went  away  I  did  n't  care 
whether  I  ever  heerd  from  her  agin  or  not.  And  I 
Lad  n't  heerd  since — did  n't  know  what  had  become  o' 
her.  But  I  know'd  her  the  minute  I  clapped  my 
eyes  on  her  in  Gamhletown.  for  she 's  ruther  a  singi:- 
Inr  iookin'  woman.  'Law  me,'  says  I,  'Mary  Cush- 
man.  I  want  to  know  if  that's  you?'  'Jest  so,'  says 
she,  but  I  can't  for  the  life  o'  me  tell  who  you  are.' 
*  The  dear  me/  say  I,  '  why  I 'm  the  Reverend  Miss 
Sniff'es.  she  'twas  Widder  Eedott,  o'  Wiggletown.' 
'  Su-re  enough,'  aays  she,  I  wooder  I  did  n't  know  you, 
bat  i're  seen  so  many  folks  since  I  was  there,  it 


212  WIDOW  BEDOTT  TAPERS. 

nitlier  confuses  me  sometimes.'  I  tliouglit  't  Vfr\ii  a 
pretty  poor  excuse  for  fogettin'  mt,  but  I  passed  it  off. 
She  was  wonderful  polite  to  us.  They 'd  bea  to 
dinner,  but  she  went  and  got  dinner  for  us  right  off. 
She  don't  keep  lio  help,  does  all  her  own  work,  and  T 
must  say  she  keeps  the  house  in  very  nice  order,  and 
cooks  pretty  well  considerin'  she  used  to  be  a  school 
rr  -irm ;  school  teachers  don't  ginerally  make  no  gTeat 
o'  housekeeper's.  Her  husband  seemed  to  be  wonder- 
ful proud  o'  her;  told  how  well  she  got.  along,  and 
what  a  good  manager  she  was^  and  all  that.  But  I 
thought  I 'd  let  'em  know 't  I  had  n't  no  great  opinioi 
o'  her  hou.sekeepin'.  She  sot  on  a  leg  o'  biled  muttoL 
for  us,  and  some  vegetables  and  bread  and  butter. 
So  when  we  sot  down  to  the  table  I  declined  takin' 
f,ry  o'  the  meat.  Miss  Cumstork  axed  me  if  I  wa'n't 
hungry.  'Yes,'  says  I,  'but  I  don't  like  biled  vittals, 
ain't  used  to  'em.'  She  felt  awful  bad,  and  v/ent  c...v3 
fecr^ht  on  some  cold  roast  beef.  But  I  told  her'she 
needn't  a  troubled  herself,  for  I  couldn't  eat  cold 
r  .eat.  So  she  said  she 'd  cut  off  some  slices  and  jica.. 
'^ti.  in  a  stew-pan.  I  begged  o'  her  not  to  dew  it,  for  in 
my  opinion  warmed  up  vittals  wa'n't  fit  to  eat-  '  I T 
make  out  Avith  a  potater/  sayc  I,  '  and  a  piece  o'  bieaa.' 
At  last  she  gin  Vip  tryin'  to  make  mo  take  any  tliir/ 
else.  But  the  elder  he  eat  wonderfal  heart.y.  I  kejr 
a  ^^inkin'  at  him  to  hold  up,  but  he  y/ould  n't  take 
the  hint.    Afterward  she  brought  on  a  rice  puddin'. 


THE   REV.  MRS.   SNIFFLES  AT   HOME.  213 

and  the  elder  let  into 't  in  arnest.  I  eat  some  tew,  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  awful  hungr}^,  but  didn't 
want  'em  to  think  I  eat  it  because 't  was  good,  so,  I 
says,  sajs  I,.  '  rice  puddin'  's  terrible  plain ;  but  it 's 
better  'n  nothm',  and  I  s'pose  I  shall  be  sick  if  I  don't 
eat  somethin'.'  When  we  was  alone  the  elder  un- 
dertook to  take  me  to  do  about  findin'  fault  with  the 
vittais,  but  I  told  him  he  need  n't  be  consarned,  for  I 
meant  to  let  the  Cumstorks  see 't  I  know'd  what  was 
what,  though  I  had  n't  been  a  school-marm.  And  I 
made  it  a  pint  to  turn  up  my  nose  at  every  thing  in 
the  house  all  the  time  I  was  there ;  and  I  tell  ye,  I 
could  ii't  lelp  laughin'  in  my  sleeve  to  see  how  on- 
comfortable  it  made  'em  feel.  "Well,  we  stayed  till 
the  next  Monday,  and  the  elder  he  preached  foi 
brother  Cumstork.  The  Gambletown  folks  was  very 
much  taken  with  him,  and  with  me  tew,  all  the  most 
extinguished  indiwiddiwals  in  the  place  called  on  me. 
I  see  that  they  seemed  to  think  Miss  Cumstork  was  an 
amazin' smart,  intellectible  woman,  but  whenever  I  got 
:*  chance  I  let  'em  know 't  /did  n't  think  so,  nor  the  Wig- 
gletown  folks  did  n't  think  so  nother.  I  ruther  guess  the 
Cumstorks  '11  have  to  draw  in  their  horns  after  this — '* 
"  Well,  now,  Sister  Bedott — Sister  Sni&es  I  mean — 
J.  yvant  to  know  if  you  think 't  was  Christianlike  to 
go  there  and  abuse  that  poor  ^oman  in  her  own 
house,  and  talk  aginst  her  to  her  own  congregation 
into  the  bargain,  when,  accordin*  ta  yer  own  story, 


214.  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAl^ERS. 

she  done  all  she  could  to  make  yer  visit  pleasant? 
I 'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  ou 't  if  I 'd  acted  so  ridicilous 
I  don't  see  what  yer  object  was  cultin'  np  so." 

"  I  tell  ye  I  wanted  to  show  'em 't  1  know'd  what 
was  what." 

"Well,  I  guess  ye  show'd'em  one  thing pretxy  plain 
— that  ye  dident  know        jpoliieness  was.'' 

"  I  guess,  Sister  Magwire,  't  I  know  what  politeness 
is  as  well  as  you  dew.  It  looks  well  for  you  to  be  a.' 
tellin'  me  what 's  right  and  what 's  wrong,  when  my 
first  pardner  was  a  deacon  and  my  present  one 's  a 
minister — when  I  want  your  advice  I  '11  ax  for  it." 

"  "Well,  well,  I  want  to  hear  about  them  daggertypcs 
— how  they  make  'em,  and  all  in  relation  tew  it.  It 's 
a  wonderful  art — beats  all  I  ever  heerd  of.  How  is  i'. 
they  take  'em  in  so  little  while  ?" 

Well,  I  '11  tell  ye.  Ther 's  a  pole  stuck  up  in  the 
middle  o'  the  floor,  with  a  machine  atop  on 't— kind  of 
an  nplong  shaped  consarn — looks  for  all  the  worlr 
like  the  old  cannon  they  haul  out  on  Independence 
and  training  days,  about  so  wide  and  so  long.  In  the 
little  eend  on 't  ther 's  a  hole,  and  inco  that  hole  the 
daggerotyper  slips  the  steel  plate  that  the  picter 's  to 
be  made  on^  and  kivers  it  up.  Then  ye  have  to  set 
down  in  a  cheer  about  as  fur  from  the  machine  as 
from  here  to  that  stove,  on  an  average.  Then  he  lasV 
ens  yer  head  in  an  iron  consarn  to  keep  it  stll^  -fo  - 
ye  Ve  got  co  set  as  onmovable  as  a  wax- work,  and  as 


THE   REV.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  AT   HOME  215 

stiff  as  stilljards,  or  the  picter  '11  be  spiled.  Then  ye 
must  look  strait  at  the  machine  that  staus  there  a  pint 
in'  right  at  yer  face — " 

"  Grammany  !  I  should  think 't  would  be  an  awful 
sittiwation.    I  should  be  frightend  out  o'  my  wits." 

"  Lawful  sakes !  I  wa'n't  a  bit  skairt.  Well,  ther  '3 
a  winder  right  aside  o'  ye,  and  a  white  sheet  fastened  up 
all  round  ye,  and  when  ye 've  got  fixt,  he  takes  the  kiv- 
er  off  o'  the  machine,  and  the  light  reflects  into  the  win- 
der and  onto  yer  face,  and  from  yer  flice  it  refrageratea 
onto  the  steel  plate,  and  executes  the  picter  in  a  minit." 

"  Well,  I  don't  understand  now  a  bit  better  'n  I  did 
afore." 

"  I  never  !  how  dumb  you  be  ?  it 's  as  clear  as  day 
light  to  me.    I  seen  right  through  it  at  fist." 

"Well,  what  do  they  call  them  daggertj^pes  for?" 

"  0,  I  s'pose  that 's  on  account  o'  the  dagger  they 
use  to  polish  off  the  plates  aforehand.  Seertt^  ',.0  ms 
that  was  what  Jabe  said." 

"Jabe  who?' 

"  Why  Jabe  OLirk — he  took  that  picter." 

"You  don't!" 
'  "  It  's  a  curus  circumstance.  I  '11  tell  yo  bow  it 
happened.  I 'd  no  m.ore  idee  o'  the  daggertyper  bein' 
Jabe  Clark  than  nothing  in  the  world.  Nobody  did- 
ent  know  it.  He  was  there  in  Gambletown  cuttin'  a 
mighty  swell  with  his  daggeriypes — makin'  money 
like  dirt.    Had  his  gallery  o^er  Smith's  store — altered 


216  WIDOW    B  E  D  O  T  1    P  J.  .  P  E  R  S . 

his  name — had  a  great  llarin'  sign  stuck  up  over  hifl 
door  that  had  on 't,  '  Mr.  Augustas  Montgomery, 
Daggertjper.'  Well,  we  went  in  there  a  Friday  to 
look  at  his  picturs,  and  see  what  he  taxed  for  takin' 
'em — thought  mabby  he 'd  strike  off  some  on  account 
of  our  belongin'  to  the  clargy.  Brother  Cumstork 
went  with  us  and  introduced  us ;  and  Mr.  Montgum- 
ciy  was  wonderful  polite — showed  all  Lis  picters :  told 
[IS  all  about  'em  tew — the  way  he  took  'em  and  so  on; 
though  most  on  'em  was  liis  own  likenesses.  There 
was  Mr.  Montgomery  a  readin' — Mr.  Montgomery  a 
sraokin' — Mr.  Montgomery  a  shavin' — and  ever  so 
many  more.  I  forgit  what  they  was  all  a  dewin'. 
All  the  time  J  kept  a  thinkin'  I 'd  seen  the  m.an  afore ; 
but  to  save  my  life  I  couldent  remember  when  nor 
v/liere.  He  looked  kind  o'  natral  some  how,  and  his 
voice  sounded  jest  as  if  I 'd  heerd  it  afore.  But  then 
he  kokt  so  different,  no  wonder  I  dident  knov/  him  at 
first.  He 'd  cut  off  his  whiskers  all,  only  a  bunck  on 
the  tip  of  liis  chin  ;  and  he 'd  got  on  spectacles  though 
.1  noticed  he  looked  over  the  tops  of  'em.  He  had  a 
wig,  tew,  couoxderable  blacker  'n  his  own  hair.  The 
<>lder  and  me  we  stood  up  together  and  axed  him  if 
he  thought  we 'd  take  well.  He  looked  at  us  a  min- 
ute^ and  then  says  he,  *  Jingo  I  you 'd  make  an  adrny- 
rable  picter.'  Then  it  popped  riglit  ir^c  my  head 
who 't  was.  I  was  on  the  pint  o'  screamia  *ight  out 
—but  I  happened  to  think  and  hild  my  tongue,  foi 


THE  REV.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  AT   HOME.  217 

Cliinks  me,  I'll  come  up  with  ye  old  feller  for  that 
grcclj  flewrj '  afore  I  quit  ye.  So  I  told  him  we 'd 
3et  for  our  picters  ;  and  he  fixed  the  plate  and  the  ma- 
3hiiie,  and  arranged  us  in  our  cheers  the  way  wo 
wanted  to  be  represented — and  then  he  took  us.  But 
tie  first  cne  AYa'n't  good.  The  Elder  he  hjsted  his 
eyebrows — it 's  a  trick  o'  hisen — and  so  his  pictur  had 
as  much  as  a  dosen  pair  of  eyes.  'T  was  ruther  big- 
ger I  vvanted  it  tew.  I  axed  him  if  he  couldent 
make  one  ruther  smaller.  He  said,  '  0  yes,  he  had  a 
process  by  which  he  could  manage  'em  down  to  any 
size.'  So  we  sot  agin,  a  little  furder  off  from  the  ma- 
chine, and  that  time  't  was  good.  I  was  so  much 
pleased,  with  it,  I  told  him  I 'd  have  another  one  took 
for  Miss  Sam  Peudergrass,  a  friend  o'  mine.  The  el- 
der looked  ruther  surprized,  but  he  dident  say  noth- 
ing. Well,  he  got  another  one  full  as  good  as  the 
first ;  and  I  liked  it  so  well,  I  concluded  to  have  an- 
other one  to  fetch  home  with  me.  The  elder  opened 
his  eyes  and  looked  surpriseder  'n  ever ;  but  I  gin  him 
a  look,  and  he  hild  his  tongue.  After  he 'd  finished 
'em  all  up,  and  got  'em  all  sot  in  the  cases,  says  I, 
*  Well,  DOW,  Mr.  Montgomery,  what  d'  ye  tax  ?' 
'  Well,'  says  he,  'my  reglar  price  for  a  double  picter 
is  tew  dollars ;  but  I  always  want  to  dew  the  fair 
thing  by  the  clargy — ginerally  make  a  pint  to  throw 
off  some  for  them.  So  in  your  case  I  wont  tax  but 
five  dollars  for  the  hull.'    As  good  luck  would  have 

10 


218 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  TAPERS. 


it,  I  happened  to  have  that  ar  biizzom-pin  he  o<jld  me 
elder  in  my  work-pocket.  It  had  ben  there  ever 
since  the  Elder  first  showed  it  to  me.  So  1  takes  it 
out  and  holds  it  up  afore  him.  'T  was  as  green  as 
grass,  and  any  bod}^  could  see  in  a  minit  that 't  wa? 
brass.  ^  There,'  says  I,  '  that 's  a  buzzum-pin  jhat  my 
husband  bought  of  a  pedlar  and  paid  him  five  dollars* 
for  it.  He  was  a  woliderful  pious  pedlar — had  jest  ex 
perienced  religion — and  of  course  he  woulder.\:  take 
the  advantage  of  a  minister  o'  the  Gospel ,  and  he 
said  't  was  woth  double  the  money  he  caxed but 
seein'  he  was  tradin'  with  the  clargy,  he  wouldent 
charge  but  half-price.  To  be  sure,  it  dident  look  so 
green  then  as  it  does  now — the  greenness  was  princi- 
pally on  husband's  side.  Now  I 'm  willin'  to  dew  as 
well  by  you  as  Jabe  Clark  done  by  my  husband.  I  '11 
let  ye  have  this  pin  to  pay  for  the  picters,  and  vron't 
ax  no  boot.'    Then  I  gin  him  a  knowin'  look. 

I  wish  you  could  a  seen  the  critter.  I  tell  ye 't  was 
rich^  as  Jeff  says.  He  turned  pale,  and  then  he 
turned  red,  and  looked  as  if  he  was  completely 
stumped.  The  elder  he  begun  to  ham  and  haw  as  if 
he  was  a  gwine  to  say  something.  But  I  looked  at 
him  in  a  way  that  made  him  think  't  wa'n't  wotb 
while.  Elder  Cumstork  tew  looked  perfectly  as 
tonished.  He  examined  the  pin,  and  says  he,  Why 
Sister  Sniffles,  this  ere 's  brass  and  no  mistake — that 
pedlar  cheated  brother  Sniffles  most  v^^ickedly.'' 


T^E  KEY.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  AT  HOME.  219 


vVhatl'^  says  I,  "vou  don't  s'pose  tliat  a  pedlar 
ihat  had  experienced  religion  at  a  protracted  meetin', 
and  sold  splendid  '  grcdj  flewry'  silk  for  only  a  dol- 
lar a  yard,  and  linen  cambric  handkerchers  that  wcCvlI 
half  cotton,  for  half  price,  would  put  off  a  brass  buz- 
zom-pin  onto  a  clargyman  for  gold !  what  an  idee !" 
Brother  Cumstork  dident  say  no  more.  "Well,  Mr. 
Montgomery  he  stood  there  with  his  knees  a  shakin' 
and  a  lookin'  as  if  he 'd  like  to  exasperate  through  the 
key  hole.  At  last  says  I  "  Come,  what  do  you  think 
o'  the  offer?"  ''Well,  well,"  says  he,  ''raly,  I— I—" 
Then  I  marched  strait  up  to  him,  and  hild  the  pin 
right  under'  his  nose,  and  says  I,  ^'  Mistopher !  do  you 
darst  to  say  that  are  pin 's  brass?"  He  ketcht  it  out 
c'  my  hand  and  stufled  it  into  his  pocket,  and  ^ays  he, 
"Well,  bein'  as  you  belong  to  the  clargy,  I  s'pose  I 'd 
ought  to  accommodate  ye."  So  I  took  my  dagger- 
types  and  started  off.  Jest  as  I  was  a  passin'  out  be- 
hind the  men,  Jabe  ketcht  me  slyly  by  the  sleeve, 
and  says  he,  "  Widderl"  ''That  ain't  my  name,"  sa3^s 
I  " Miss  SnifSes,  I  mean,"  says  he,  "I  hope  ye '11 
■!:eep  cZar^^"  1  dident  say  nothing ;  but  after  we 'd 
Kot  into  the  street,  right  by  the  corner  of  the  store, 
where  ther  was  a  hull  mess  o'  men  standin',  I  looks 
up  to  his  winder  and  shakes  my  daggertypes  in  his 
face  and  says  I,  "  Jaby  Clark,  don't  you  feel  green  P 
Then  1  explained  it  to  Elder  Cumstork ;  and  he  told 


220 


WIDOW  BEDOTT 


PAPERS. 


Smith-  —and  I  tell  ye  it  flew  like  every  thing.  The 
lext  mornin'  Mr.  Montgomery  was  missin\ 

There  comep  the  elder — he 's  ben  over  to  Deacon 
3ugle's.  I  '11  be  hanged  if  he  ain't  a  comin'  in  with 
ouc  cleanin'  his  feet.  I  wonder  if  any  woman  ever 
^ .ad  ther  patience  so  tried  as  mine  is  all  the  time! 
ITere  ye  be — mud  and  all.  I  wonder  if  it  3ver  occur- 
.^ed  tew  ye  what  that  scraper  was  put  to  the  door  for? 
Ye  never  think  o'  cleanin'  yer  feet  no  more  'n  as  if 
ther  wa'n't  such  a  thing  ir-  the  world.  I  guess  yer 
first  wife  must  a  ben  a  wonderful  particklar  wo- 
man." 

"  I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Sniffles,  I  was  not  aware  that 
any  particles  of  mud  adhered  to  the  extremities  zi 
my  boots." 

"I  presume  ye  wa'n't  awaie  on't.  Ye'd  go  nea'\ 
foremost  into  a  mud  puddle  as  big  as  a  meetin'-house; 
and  not  be  aware  on 't.  Sal !  fetch  here  the  dust  pan, 
and  brush,  and  clean  up  this  mud,  quick.  T^heret 
jest  like  ye !  can't  take  up  without  gittin'  down  o:^ 
yer  knees  to  dew  it." 

"I  got  down  to  look  after  it — coulden'^  see  where 
'twas." 

"  Couldent  see  it,  hey !  Hain't  ye  no  eyes  in  yer 
head  ?  Ye 've  ben  so  used  to  mud  and  dirt  all  yer 
days,  I  s'pose  you  actilly  don't  see  it  without  it  *s  a 
lump  as  big  as  yer  head.    Spoured  them  pans  yit?" 

**Yes,  ma'am." 


THE  EEV.  MRS.  SNIFFLES  AT  HOME.  221 


.  "  Well,  why  dident  ye  come  and  let  me  know  wheu 
ye  got  done — say?" 

"Because  I  only  just  got  done  this  minute." 

"  That 's  a  likely  story  I  I  '11  bet  a  dollar  ye 've  ben 
a  lookin'  out  o'  the  winder,  or  talkin'  to  Bets  Wilson 
this  half  hour.  Go  along  and  make  up  a  fire,  and 
put  on  the  tea  kittle,  [boxing  her  ears]  and  then  go 
out  and  mop  off  the  steps,  and  git  'em  ready  for  Mr. 
Sniffles  to  dob  up  with  mud  agin  next  time  he  comes 
in'* 

^'  Well)  Sister  Sniffles,  I  guess  I  must  go." 

^'Whatl  I  thought  ye  was  a  gwine  to  stay  to  tea." 
No,  I  can't^ — ^husband  'II  be  expectin'  me  hum  to 
a  rink  tea  with  him.'^ 

"  Well,  then,  I  '11  jest  throw  on  my  things  and  run 
ovei  and  take  a  dish  with  ye,  for  I 'm  tired,  and  don't 
feel  like  gittin'  vittals  myself." 

*•  Brother  Sniffles  you  come  along  tew." 

"  Well,  then,  Sal  you  may  take  off  the  tea-kettle ; 
and  don't  ye  make  no  more  fire — shefc  up  the  stove, 
and  let  it  go  down,  and  take  yer  knittin'-w  ork  and  stick 
to  't  :?udd^ .  If  ye  want  any  '.hing  to  eat  afore  we  git 
back,  ye  may  git  some  o'  that  cold  pork  and  tatcrs. 
Thank  fortin  the  cubbard 's  locked,  or  I  s'pose  she 'd 
be  a  pokin'  her  nose  int(  the  rest  o'  the  vittaliJ— 
moopin'  critter." 


XXI. 


^t  i^l?.  lbs.  Sniies  (Bx^xms  \m  Bnxiimm 
k  gts'iirl)  ta  llie  |ar$,oiiage. 

"  J  SAY  I  'm  disgusted  with  tliis  old  house  ;  't  ain't 
fit  for  ginteel  folks  to  live  in ;  looks  as  if 't  was 
built  in  Koah's  time,  with  its  consarned  old  gamble 
ruff  and  ieetle  bits  o'  winders  a  pokin'  out  like  bird 
cages  all  round.  Painted  yaller,  too,  and  such  num- 
bly yaller;  for  all  the  world  jest  the  color  o'  calomel 
and  jollup  I" 

But  you  are  aware,  Mrs.  Sniffles — " 

I  say 't  ain't  fit  to  live  in.  I 'm  ashamed  on 't.  I 
feel  awful  mortified  about  it  whenever  I  look  at  Kiss 
Myerses  and  Miss  Lodcrses,  and  the  rest  o'  the  hansome 
sittiwations  iu  the  neighborhood,  with  their  wings  and 
their  piazzera  and  Ibldin'  doors,  ana  all  so  dazzlin' 
white.  It 's  ridicilous  that  we  should  have  to  live  in 
such  a  distressid  lookin'  old  consarn,  when  we're 
every  bit  and  grain  as  good  as  they  be,  if  not  ruther 
better." 

Nevertheless,  the  house  is  very  comfortable." 
Comfortable !  who  cares  for  comfort  when  gintili* 


EXPEESSES   HER  SENTIMENTS. 


228 


ty 's  consamed !  /  don't.  I  say  if  you  're  detarminea 
tc  stay  in  it,  you 'd  ought  to  make  some  alterations 
in'  \  You 'd  ought  to  higher  the  rufF  up  and  put  on 
some  wings,  and  build  a  piazzer  in  front  vrith  four 
great  pillars  to 't,  and  knock  out  that  are  petition  be- 
twixt the  square  room  and  kitchen,  and  put  foldin' 
doors  instid  on't,  and  then  build  on  a  kitchen  behind, 
and  have  it  all  painted  white,  with  green  winder 
blinds,  ^at  would  look  something  UJce^  and  then  I 
sliouldent  feel  ashamed  to  have  ginteel  company  come 
to  see  me,  as  I  dew  now.  T'  other  day,  when  Curnel 
Billins  and  his  wife  called,  I  couldent  help  noticin' 
how  contemptible  she  looked  round  at  the  house  and 
furniture — I  actilly  was  so  mortified  I  felt  as  if  I 
should  sink  right  through  the  floor." 

*'But  3'ou  know,  Mrs.  Sniffles — " 

'  ^  say  we 'd  ought  to  have  new  furnitur — sofys  and 
fashionable  cheers,  and  curtains,  and  mantletry  orna- 
ments, and  so  forth.  That  old  settee  looks  like  a  sight. 
.And  them  cheers,  tew,  they  must  a  come  over  in  the 
drk.  And  then  ther  ain't  a  picter  in  the  house,  only 
jest  that  everlastin'  old  likeness  o'  Bonyparte.  I  '11 
jet  forty  great  apples  it's  five  hundred  years  old.  I 
V7as  raly  ashamed  on 't  when  I  see  Miss  Curnel  Bil- 
lins look  at  it  so  scornful  when  they  called  here.  I 
s'pose  she  was  a  counterastin'  it  with  their  beautiful 
new  picters  they  're  jest  ben  a  gittin  up  from  ISTew 
York,  all  in  gilt  frames.    I  seen  one  on  "em  t'  other 


224  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

day  in  to  Mr.  Bungle's  shop,  when  I  went  in  witli 
Sister  Tibbins  to  look  at  her  portrait  that  he 's  a  paint- 
in'.  I  seen  one  o'  Miss  Billinses  picters  there.  'Twaa 
a  splendid  one,  as  big  as  the  top  o*  that  are  table,  and 
represented  an  elegant  lady  a  lyin'  asleep  by  a  river, 
and  ther  was  a  little  angel  a  hoverin'  in  the  air  over 
her  head,  jest  a  gwine  to  shoot  at  her  with  a  bow  and 
arrer.  I  axed  Mr.  Bungle  what 't  was  sent  to  his  shop 
for,  and  he  said  how 't  Miss  Billins  wa'n't  quite  satis- 
fied with  it  on  account  o'  the  angel's  legs  bein'  bare, 
and  she  wanted  to  have  him  paint  some  pantaletts  on 
'em,  and  he  was  a  gwine  to  dew  it  as  soon  as  he  got 
time.  He  thought 't  would  be  a  very  interestin'  picter 
when  he  got  it  fixed.  I  think  so  tew.  I  dew  admire 
picters  when  they  ain't  all  dirty  and  faded  out  like  old 
Bony  there.  Them  Scripter  pieces  that  Sister  Myer? 
has  got  hangin'  in  her  front  parlor — them  she  pamted 
afore  she  was  married,  strikes  me  as  wonderful  inter- 
estin', especially  the  one  that  represents  Pharoh's 
daughter  a  findin'  Moses  in  the  bulrushes.  Her  para- 
sol and  the  artificials  in  her  bunnit  is  jest  as  natral  aa 
life.  And  Moses,  he  looks  so  cunnin'  a  lyin'  there 
asleep,  with  his  little  coral  necklace  and  bracelets  on 
O  it 's  a  sweet  picter.  And  I  like  that  other  one,  tew, 
that  represents  Pharoh  a  drivin'  full  tilt  into  ihe 
Ked  Sea  after  the  Isrelites.  How  natral  his  coat-tails 
flies  out.  I  think  some  Scripter  pieces  would  be  ver^ 
approbriat.?i  for  a  minister's  house.    We  might  git  Mr 


EXPRESSES  HER  SENTIMENTS.  225 


Bungle  to  paint  some  for  the  front  parlor,  and  our 
portraits  to  hang  in  the  back  parlor,  as  Miss  Myers 
has  theirn.  But  law  me !  what 's  the  use  o'  my  talk- 
in'  o'  havin'  picters  or  any  thing  else  that 's  decent  ? 
You  don't  take  no  interest  in  it.  You  seem  to  be  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  this  flambergasted  old  house  and 
every  thing  in  it."' 

''My  former  con  tot  never  desired  any  thing  supe- 
rior to  it." 

"  Your  former  consort !  I 'm  sick  and  tired  o'  hear- 
about  her.  'T  aint  by  no  means  agreeable  to  have 
dead  folks  throw'd  in  yer  face  from  mornin'  to  night. 
"What  if  she  was  satisfied  with  her  sittiv/ation  ? 
'T  ain't  no  sign  /  should  be.  I  s'pose  she  hadont 
never  ben  used  to  nothin'  better,  but  I  liavey 
"But,  Mis.  Sniffles,  you  must  recollect  that — " 
"  I  say 't  ain't  to  be  put  up  with.  I  want  to  Lave 
some  company— ben  wantin'  tew  ever  sence  we  was 
married ;  but  as  for  invitin'  any  ginteel  people  a  visit- 
in*  to  such  a  distressid  old  shell  as  this  is,  I  won't  dew 
'.\r  —and  so — Miss  Billins  and  Miss  Loder  and  iliem 
would  say  I  was  trjin'  to  cut  a  swell,  and  couldent 
make  it  out.  And  I  don't  mean  to  accept  no  more 
invitations  amonkst  them  that  lives  in  style,  for  it  ag- 
gravates me,  it  does,  to  think  hovr  different  I 'm  sitti- 
watecL  So  you  may  make  yer  pastoral  visits  without 
me  in  future,  for  I 've  made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  out 
none-  as  long  as  we  live  in  this  ridicilous  old  house.'' 

10* 


226 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


"  But  recollect,  Mrs.  Sniffles,  this  house  is  a  parsonage 
— I  occupy  it  rent  free." 

"  I  don't  care  if 't  is  a  parsonage.  I  say  tlie  congre* 
gation  might  afford  you  a  better  one,  and  for  my  part, 
I 'm  disposed  to  make  a  fuss  about  it." 

"  Mrs.  Sniffles,  you  must  be  aware  that  I  am  not 
possessed  of  inexhaustible  means.  I  have  never  at- 
tempted to  conceal  from  you  this  fact — ^therefore,  you 
must  also  be  aware  that  there  exists  an  entire  impossi- 
bility of  my  erecting  a  new  residence  on  the  plan 
which  you  propose.  Nor  is  it  at  all  probable  that  the 
congregation  would  be  willing  to  make  such  altera- 
tions in  this  as  you  suggest.  Yet,  I  assure  you,  that  I 
have  not  the  slightest  objection  to  your  employing 
your  own  means  in  the  construction  of  a  more  elegant 
edifice." 

My  own  means  !" 

Yes,  Mrs.  Sniffles.  Your  dissatisfaction  with  the 
parsonage  is  so  great,  that  I  have  for  some  time  pasu 
been  expecting  you  would  projDOse  building  a  new  res- 
idence ;  and  I  repeat  that  such  an  appropriation  of  a 
portion  of  your  funds  would  meet  my  concurrence." 
"  My  funds !" 

"  Your  funds,  Mrs.  Sniffles.  It  is  a  delicate  subject 
and  one  on  which  I  have  hitherto  hesitated  to  make 
inquiry,  although  possessing  an  undoubted  light  lo  do 
so.  I  have  been  expecting  ever  since  our  union,  tha* 


EXPRESSES   HER  SENTIMENTS 


22? 


fou  would  inform  me  liow  and  where  jour  property 
is  invested." 

"  Mj  property  1" 

''Your  property,  Mrs.  Sniffles.  In  what  does  it 
consist,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  inquire  ?" 

"  Land  o'  liberty  !  you  know  as  well  as  I  dew." 
What  am  I  to  infer  from  that  observation  ?" 
Jest  what  you  're  a  mind  to.    I  ain't  woth  money, 
and  I  never  said  I  was." 

Mrs.  Sniffles,  you  are  well  aware  that  on  your  ar- 
rival in  this  place,  common  report  pronounced  you  to 
be  an  individual  of  abundant  means,  and  I  have  al- 
ways labored  under  this  impression — an  impression 
which,  allow  me  to  remind  you,  yourself  confirmed 
hi  a  conversation  which  occurred  between  us  in  the 
parsonage  grove." 

"  You  don^t  mean  to  say 't  I  told  you  so,  and  you 
darsent  say    I  did." 

"  A-hem^ — I  mean  to  cay  that  you  did  not  dmj  it 
when  I  dehcately  alluded  to  the  subject.  On  tho  con- 
trary you  led  me  to  infer  that  such  was  the  fjict,  and 
under  that  impression  I  was  induced  to  accede  to  your 
proposal." 

"  My  proposal  ?  What  do  you  mean  to  insinniwate  ?" 

"  I  should  have  said  your — your — Qvident  inclina- 
tion for  a — a— matrimonial  engagement.  I  deeply  re- 
gret, Mrs.  Sniffles,  that  you  should  have  allowed  yc  iir- 
Bclf  to  practice  upen  me  what  I  can  not  consider  in  airy 


228 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


other  light  than  that  of  a  heinous  and  unmitigated 
deception.  I  regard  it  as  an  act  quite  incompatible 
with  jour  rehgious  professions." 

You  dew,  hey  ?  Tell,  you  can't  say 't  I  ever  told 
you  out  and  out  thai  I  was  woth  property  ;  and  if 
you  was  a  mind  to  s'pose  so  from  what  I  did  say,  I 'm 
sure 't  ain't  my  fault,  nor  I  ain't  to  blame  for  other 
folkses  saying  I  was  a  rich  widder." 

"  Mrs.  Sniffles,  I  lament  exceedingly  that  you  should 
view  it  in  that  light.  You  can  but  acknowledge  that  it 
was  your  duty  when  I  requested  information  on  the 
subject,  to  have  given  me  a  correct  account  of  your 
property." 

I  hadent  no  property  to  give  ye  an  accont  of." 

"  l::'ou  should  have  told  me  so,  Mrs.  SnifSes,  and 
not  have  suffered  me  to  infer  that  you  was  in  easy 
circumstances." 

"  1  tell  ye  agin,  I  oouldent  help  what  you  inferred^ 
and  s'pozen  I  could,  vvhic"^  was  the  most  to  blame,  me 
for  lettin'  you  think  I  was  rich,  or  yovi  for  marrjin' 
me  because  yon  thought  I  was  rich  ?  For  my  part,  I 
think  iJiat  was  ruther  incompatible  with  your  profess- 
ions. Ministers  had  ought  to  have  their  affections  r^ot 
abovo  transiterry  riches." 

"Mrs.  Sniffles,  this  is  a — a — delicate  subject,  we 
will  waive  it,  if  you  please." 

"But  I  think  the  congregation  ought  to  Q.K.  up  h-A 
house." 


ijJiPn  ESSES   HEii   SENTIMENTS.  229 

"  I  will  lay  it  before  tlie  session  at  tlie  next  meet- 
mg." 

"  Well,  dew,  for  pity's  sake.  And  if  they  agree  to 
fix  it,  I'll  go  a  journey  somewhar  while  it 's  a  bein'  al- 
tered, and  you  can  board  round,  and  Sal  can  stay  at 
sister  Magwire's." 

Extracts  from  Mrs.  Sniffles^  Diary, 

Sabbath  Day  Evening— 0,  what  a  precious  sea^ 
son  this  day  has  been  to  me  1  My  pardner  has 
hild  forth  with  uncommon  unction.  O,  may  he  long 
be  a  burnin'  and  shinin*  light  to  the  world !  My  feel- 
ins  to-day  has  been  of  the  most  desirable  natur.  C 
that  I  could  say  so  every  night !  but,  alas  1  ther  'n 
times  when  I  feel  as  cold  as  a  stun,  when  the  face  o 
creation  seems  to  frown,  and  evidences  is  wonderful 
dull.  And  then  agin,  I 'm  as  bright  as  a  dollar,  and 
have  such  wonderful  clear  manifestations,  and  such 
oncommon  nearness — and  such  a  sense  of  intarnal 
satisfaction.  0  that  I  could  always  feel  as  I 'd  ought 
to  feel.  Dear  suz  !  I 'm  often  reminded  o'  what  my 
deceased  companion,  the  lamented  Deacon  Bedott, 
used  to  remark,    "We  're  all  poor  critters." 

To-day  we  're  liable  to  fall, 

To-morrow  up  we  climb, 
For 't  ain't  our  nature  to  enjoy 

Eeligion  all  the  time. 

Monday. — Have  ben  very  much  exercised  to-day 
on  account  of  Sally  Blake,  our  help.    Her  depraved 


430  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

natur  lias  showed  out  in  a  very  trjin'  manner.  But  1 
feel  to  rejoice  that  I 've  ben  enabled  to  be  faithful  with 
her.  How  I  have  wrastled  day  and  night  for  that  dis- 
tressid  child !  0,  that  I  may  have  grace  to  bear  with 
patience  and  resignation  the  daily  trials  I  have  to  un- 
dergo with  her  !  I  feel  to  be  thankful  that  thus  far  1 
have  ben  supported  and  hain't  sunk  under  it  as  many 
would  a  done.  0  that  I  may  be  enabled  to  feel  and 
realize  that  such  afilictions  is  sent  for  the  trial  of  my 
faith. 

Thursday. — 0,  what  a  responsible  sittiTration  is 
mine  as  President  of  the  F.  U.  D.  G.  E.,  and  A.  So 
ciety  !"  I 've  realized  it  in  an  overwhelmin'  degree 
to-day.  Attended  the  meetin'  this  afternoon,  anc< 
some  very  onpleasnt  circumstances  occur ed.  But  1 
feel  to  be  truly  thankful  that  I  had  grace  to  presarve 
my  uniformity  in  the  midst  of  the  diffikilties.  I  wish 
I  could  say  as  much  for  some  o'  the  rest  o'  the  mem- 
bers, especially  Sail  Hugle.  O,  the  vanity  and  pride 
o'  that  critter !  it  grieves  me  to  the  heart. 

Saturday. — My  beloved  Shadrach  has  jist  inform- 
ed me  that  the  parsonage  is  to  be  repaired  and  made 
comfortable.  My  dear  pardner  has  requested  it  to  be 
done  intirely  to  please  me,  and  quite  unbeknown  to 
me.  It 's  true  it  needs  it  bad  enough,  but  then  I  never 
should  a  thought  o'  complainin'  about  it.  I  feel  that 
I 'm  a  pilgrim  and  a  sojourneyer  here,  and  hadent 
ought  to  be  partickler,  and  so  I  told  the  elder  when  he 


EXPRESSES   HER  SENTIMENTS.  2'6i 

proposed  havin'  the  Louse  repaired.  But  he  insisted 
on 't  and  I  consented  more  for  his  sake  than  my  own. 
0  that  I  may  be  truly  thankful  for  the  blessins  I  injoy 
especially  for  such  a  pardner  I 

Blest  "be  the  day  c'  sacred  init*th 
That  gave  my  dear  companion  bblli. 
Let  men  rejoice  while  Silly  singra 
The  bliss  her  precious  Shadrack  brin^ 


xxn. 


'YyOWT  care  a  snap  for  liim,  liey?  Now  Nancy 
Harrington,  I  want  to  know  if  you  think 
you  Ve  a  gwine  to  make  me  believe  sucli  a  story  as 
tliat  ?  I  know  better.  I  can  see  as  fur  into  a  mill- 
stone as  any  body — and  I  know  and  have  know'd  for 
better  'n  six  months  how you  and  Jasper  Doolittle 
tuck  a  notion  to  one  another.  'T  is  extrawnary  how 
gals  will  talk !  If  you  don^t  care  a  snap  for  him. 
what  makes  you  go  with  him  to  lecters,  ana  concerts 
and  sleigh -rides,  and  all  kinds  o'  dewins?  Don't  tel) 
Tne  you  don't  care  a  snap  for  him.  He  s  a  .;eal  nice 
young  man  lew — stiddy  and  industrus  and  dewin' 
well — ^you  never  '11  have  a  bexter  chance  in  yer  life — 
mabby  he  hain  t  said  nothin'  partickler  to  you  yet — 
but  that  '3  no  sign  he  ain't  a  gwine  tew  as  soon  as  he 
gits  his  curndge  up.  He 's  ruther  ba.^hf:I,  you  know 
— ^it  takes -them  sort  o'  fellers  longer  to  come  to  the  pint 
in  euch  matters  ^  thay  want  considerable  spurrin'  u.,:. 
and  I  advise  you  not  to  let  nobody  else  hear  jo'j  say 
you  don't  care  nothin'  about  Jasper  Doolittle — trouble 


AUNT  MAG  U  IRE  S  EXPERIENCE. 


233 


comes  o'  tliem  kind  o'  speeches.  I  know  by  experi- 
ence— come  purty  nigh  losin'  yer  Uncle  J oshavray 
by  makin'  an  unprudent  remark  o'  that  nater.  I  '11 
tell  you  how 't  was,  and  mabby  you  '11  take  warnin' 
by  it.  I  remember  egzackly  when  'twas — 'twas  in 
the  month  o'  March,  about  tew  year  and  a  half  arter 
Sister  Bedott  was  married ;  yer  uncle  and  me 'd  ben 
keepin'  company  all  winter :  he  come  t'  our  house 
QYery  Sabberday  evenin'  regularly,  besides  always 
seein'  me  hum  from  singin'-school  and  eyenin'  meet- 
in  Sj  and  SO  forth — 't  was  town  talk  that  we  was  en- 
gaged— Joshaway  Magwire  and  Melissy  Poole — that 
was  the  story  all  round.  But  all  this  time,  mind  you 
< — he  hadent  said  a  word  tew  me  about  havin'  on  him, 
though  I  was  suspectin'  every  day  when  he  would. 
You  see  he  was  awful  bashful.  Well,  one  night 
('t  was  in  the  month  o'  March),  we  was  gwine  hum 
from  siugin'-school — nary  one  on  us  dident  say  nothin' 
for  some  ways.  At  last  yer  uncle  ham'd  and  haw'd 
tew  or  three  times,  and  then  says  he  to  me,  says  he, 
"Melissy!"  says  I,  "Hey?" — ^but  he  dident  continner 
for  some  time— arter  a  spell  he  ham'd  and  haw'd  agin 
— and  be  says  to  me,  says  he,  "Melissy!"  says  I, 
"Well — what?"  but  still  he  dident  continner.  At 
last  I  see  we  was  a  gittin'  purty  nigh  hum — so  I  says 
to  him,  say  I,  "  Joshaway — what  was  you  a  gwine  to 
remark  ?"  So  then  he  says,  says  he,  "  I  was  a  gwine 
to  say — "  but  \vs  curridge  failed  and  he  dident  finish. 


234 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Afore  long  we  come  to  the  gate,  and  there  we  stcol 
(we  used  to  stop  awhile  at  the  gate  iu  a  gineral  v^ay), 
and  says  he,  "Melissy  1"  says  I,  Joshaway  Maguire, 
wJbat  dew  you  wajit?"  "  "Why,"  says  he,"  "  I  was  a 
gwine  to  ax  you — Jest  then  yer  granfther  Poole 
opened  the  door  and  came  out,  and  so  yer  uuclo  went 
off  and  I  went  in.  Well — next  day  Hanner  Canoot 
come  in  t'  our  house — and  she  beo-un  to  ioke  me 
about  yer  uncle — now  I  never  could  bear  Hanner 
Canoot — she  was  a  reglar  mischief- m akin'  old  maid — 
always  a  meddlin'  with  every  body's  bizness  in  the 
place — and  sure  as  she  see  a  young  cupple  appearantiy 
attached  to  one  another,  she 'd  insiniwate  sutin'  or 
other  against  'em.  She  couldent  git  no  sweetheart 
herself,  and  it  made  her  awful  cross-grained  and  mad 
at  them  as  could  git  'em.  I  hadent  never  had  no 
diffildlty  with  her — but  I  dispised  her — and  yei 
gram'ther  Poole  used  to  say  to  me  frequently,  "  M© 
lissy,  dew  be  keerful  what  you  say  afore  Hanner 
Canoot — she 's  a  dangerous  critter" — and  I  loas  kerfuJ 
in  a  gineral  wa}^.  And  then,  you  see,  ther  was 
another  thing  about  it — there  was  her  brother,  Josiar 
Canoot — he 'd  ben  tryin'  to  be  perlite  to  me  tew  or 
three  year — and  I  wouldent  keep  company  with  him, 
nor  have  nothin'  to  say  tew  him — and  Hanner  she 
know'd  it,  and  felt  awfal  spiteful  to  me  on  account  o' 
that  Speakin  o'  Siar  Canoot — the  last  time  I  was  up 
to  Wiggletown,  ver  Aunt  Bedoot  tclled  me  he  was 


AUNT  MAGUIxiE,  S  EXPERIENCE.  285 


quite  pertickler  to  lier.  He  hain't  never  ben  married 
I  s'pose  nc»"tx)dj  vy-ouldont  liave  hiixi--  •  he  "^as  so  iazy 
and  so  consarnec  disagreeable  and  so  awial  huDfuIj-. 
Whj  his  hair  was  as  read  as  blazes — and  he  hadent 
QO  nose  at  all — and  what  ther  was  on 't  turned  right 
up  straight.  When  yer  Aunt  Bedott  tell'd  ine  about 
his  steppin'  up  to  her,  I  say,  says  I,  I  hope  you 
won'o  incurridge  him,  Silly — for  he  *s  a  poor  shiftless 
critter.'*  '*  Why  no  he  ain't,  nother,"  says  she,  "  he 's 
ben  in  the  millentary  and  got  to  be  Cappen  Canoot." 
"  I  don't  care  for  that,"  says  I ;  '"t  wouldent  make  no 
di&erence  to  me  if  he  was  gineral — he 's  Si  Canoot 
an^  always  will  be.'*  Well,  I  felt  awful  worried 
about  it,  and  when  I  come  hum,  I  telled  yer  uncle 
on't,  and  says  he,  '*0  don't  you  be  afeard  o'  Silly's 
marryin*  him.  I  '11  be  bound  lie  hain't  no  idee  o' 
marryin'  her.  She  always  thinks  the  men  has  serus 
intentions  if  they  look  at  her" — that's  what  yer  uncle 
said — and  I  don't  say  but  what  H  is  so — Sister  Bedott 's 
a  curus  critter — tho'  she 's  a  nice  woman  in  the  main. 
Well,  I  was  a  gwine  to  tell  what  Hanner  said ;  she 
begun  to  joke  mc — and  says  she  (I  was  a  spinnin'  on 
i  gret  wheel  you  know),  well  she  begun  at  me  and 
says  she,  "  Mehssy,  they  tell  curus  stories  about  you ;" 
whiz— whiz — whiz  went  the  wheel,  and  I  pertended 
I  dident  hear  her.  Arter  a  spell  she  spoke  up  louder, 
and  says  she,  ''Mehssy — they  tell  strange  stories 
about  you  and  Joshaway;"  whiz — whiz — whiz  went 


236 


WIDOW   BEDOTi?  .fAPEKS. 


tlie  wneel.  I  made  as  if  I  dideit  hear  a  word,  slie  5aid 
— so  byme"by6  f^ho  turns  co  •  your  gram'ther  (she 
was  a  settin'  there),  and  says  she — "  How  is  it,  Miss 
Poole?  when 's  that  are  weddin'  comin'  on?"  "  What 
weddin?"  says  mother,  says  she.  "Why,  Melissy 
and  Joshaway  Magwire,  beshnre,''  says  Hanner,  says 
she.  "Kever — not  as  J.  knows  on,"  says  mother, 
says  she,  "I  don't  know  nothin^  about  no  such 
bizness."  Well — she  see  she  couldent  git  no  satisfac- 
tion out  o'  mother,  so  she  hollers  to  me  agin,  and  says 
she,  "  seeiTLS  to  me  yer  ruther  hard  o'  hearin'  to-day, 
Melissy."  Whiz-z-z-z-z  went  the  wheel  louder  'n  ever, 
and  I  dident  take  no  notice  o'  what  she  said.  Purty 
soon  she  bawled  out  agin,  and  stijs  she — "I  guess 
what  makes  you  so  deef,  you  must  a  ketch t  cold  in 
yer  head  last  night>— 't  was  rather  a  long  journey  you 
tuck  to  git  hum" — (jou  see  yer  uncle  and  me  went 
hum  by  the  turnpike  instid  o'  gwine  cross  lots— but 
how  the  critter  found  it  out  dear  knows).  Well,  1 
dident  pay  no  'tention,  but  I  tell  you  I  was  a  gittin' 
awful  mad.  Arter  a  spell  she  gits  up  and  comes  and 
dumps  herself  right  down  aside  o'  me,  and  says  she, 
"Say,  Melissy,  dew  tell  when  you  and  Joshaway 's  i 
gwine  to  step  off — he 's  a  very  nice  young  man,  tho' 
I  guess  he  won't  never  set  the  river  afire."  When 
she  said  that,  I  was  completely  ryled  up.  I 'd  ben  a 
growin'  madder  and  madder  all  the  time-— to  think  o' 
her  tellin'  right  afore  mother  about  our  comin'  hum 


llauner  Cannoot — yer  a  meddling  old  maid,  I  wish  you'd  mind  yer  own  bizness,  and- 
lem  me  alone  about  Josh.  Maguire.    I  wouldn't  wipe  my  old  shoes  on  him.— Page  237. 


jlUnt  maguire's  experience.  237 


by  tho  turnpike — and  then  say  in' lie  wouldent  never 
set  the  ri^er  afire" — 't  was  tew  much,  I  couldent  hold 
m  no  longer;  so  I  turned  round  and  shook  my  wheel- 
pin  in  her  face,  and  says  I,  Hanner  Canoot — yer  a 
meddlin'  old  maid.  I  wish  you 'd  mind  yer  own 
bizness  and  lem  'me  alone  about  Josh  Mag  wire — I 
wouldent  wipe  my  old  shoes  on  himy  Now  what  did 
the  critter  dew  when  I  spoke  so  ?  Why  she  snorted 
nght  out  a  laffin,  and  says  she,  "  0,  don't  git  in  a  pas- 
sion, Melissy — don't ;  dew  keep  your  temper  till  yer 
married — dew."  Furty  soon  she  went  hum.  This 
was  a  Friday.  "Well — Sabberday  come  and  I  dident 
see  nothin  o'  J oshaway.  I  thought 't  was  ruther  queer, 
but  I  reckon'd  on  seein'  on  him  to  Wensday  evenin' 
meetin' — so  I  waited  with  patience  till  Wensday 
evenin'  come,  and  I  went  to  meetin'.  Well,  he  was 
there,  and  I  s'posed  of  course  he 'd  wait  on  me  hum 
— but  when  meetin'  was  out,  lo  and  behold !  he  went 
straight  apas  me  and  axed  Cloey  Foggerson  if  he 
should  have  the  pleasure  o'  seein'  her  hum  I  Then  it 
all  come  thio'  my  head  like  a  flash  lightnin",  what 
I  said  to  Hanner  Grmoot — and  I  know'd  she  'd  told 
him  on 't  as  weE  as  if  I 'd  heerd  her.  I  tell  you  I  felt 
like  death!  I  never  know'd  till  that  minnit  how 
much  1  sot  by  Joshaway  Magwirc— the  idee  o'  loosin' 
on  him  was  awful  aggravatin'. 

Well,  I  got  hum  somehow  or  other  and  went 
straight  off  to  bed — I  dident  sleep  nun  that  night 


238 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


In  tlie  mornin'  I  got  up  witli  a  tremcnjuous  headacliej 
and  lookin'  as  pale  as  a  ghost.  Mother,  she  axed  me 
whether  or  no  I  wa'n't  sick.  I  telled  her  no  ;  but  all 
that  day  I  wa'n't  fit  for  no  bizncss — dident  have  no 
appertite — and  when  night  come  yer  gram'ther  felt 
so  consarned  about  me,  she  gin  me  a  dose  o'  perrigar- 
lick — cause  she  said  if  I  dident  sleep  that  night  I 'd  sar- 
tinlj  be  attacked  with  the  fever.  In  spite  o'  the  per- 
rigarlick  I  dident  sleep  a  wink  that  night  nother. 
Next  day  I  felt  woss  than  ever,  but  I  was  awful  high 
sperrited,  and  I  was  detarmined  nobody  shouldent 
know  the  reason.  Thinks  me  if  Joshaway 's  a  mind 
to  use  me  so,  he  may  and  be  hanged  to  him,  I  ain't 
a  gwine  to  kill  myself  on  account  o'  him — he  ain't  the 
only  young  man  in  the  univarse.  That  was  the  way 
I  talked — to  myself— but  talkin'  and  dewin 's  tew 
things,  you  know,  Nancy.  The  more  I  tried  to  de- 
spise yer  uncle,  the  more  I  couldent — ^the  more  I  tried 
to  hate  him  the  better  I  liked  him.  Well,  so  it  went 
on  for  a  number  o'  weeks,  Yer  uncle  never  come 
nigh  me.  I  used  to  see  him  to  singln'  school  and 
meetin',  but  he  never  offered  to  see  me  hum — ^always 
went  with  Cloey  Foggerson.  Afore  long,  ev^ery  body 
was  a  talkin'  about  him  and  Cloey  Foggerson.  But 
what  worked  me  most  v,^as — the  gals  begun  tc  blag- 
guard  me  about  losin'  my  sweetheart,  and  thinks  mo, 
I  Ml  git  him  back  if  I  die  for 't.  So  arter  ponderin* 
on 't  a  spell,  I  made  up  mind  I 'd  incmrridge  Siar 


AUNT   M  AG  U  IRE'S   EXPElllEKCE.  239 

Canoot,  and  see  'f  that  woixldent  bring  jer  uncle  tew. 
Si  was  ready  enough  to  step  up,  jou  know,  but  I 'd 
gi'n  him  the  mitten  so  many  times,  he  was  afeard  to 
yentur.  So  one  day  I  goes  by  his  shop  (he  was  a 
waggin-maker  by  trade^  you  know) — he  was  a  stand- 
in'  in  the  door  as  he  always  was — in  a  gineral  way — 
(he  was  everlastin'  lazy) — well,  I  says,  says  I,  "  How 
de  deW;  Mr.  Canoot?"  I  tell  you  I  never  see  a  sur- 
priscier  critter  'n  what  he  was — I  hadent  spoke  tew 
him  in  better  'n  a  year.  "  Well  as  common,"  says  he. 
Says  I,  "  Why  don't  you  never  come  to  see  us  now 
days,  Mr.  Canoot?"  The  critter  was  mighty  tickled 
— and  says  he — "  The  reason  I  hain't  ben 's  cause  I 
reckoned  my  company  wa'n't  agreeable."  "  0 1  Mr. 
Canoot,  you  mustent  think  so,"  says  I — and  then  I 
went  off.  Well,  next  night  he  come  t'  our  house,  and 
arier  that  he  come  every  night — and  I  tell  you  't  was 
an  awful  cross  to  me  to  treat  him  any  way  decent — 
^or  I  hated  the  critter  like  pizen :  but  I  managed  to  be 
Dcrlite  tew  him,  and  afore  a  week's  time  he  poppt  the 
question.  I  tell'd  him 't  was  very  onexpected  and  I 
must  consider  on 't  a  spell  afore  I  gin  him  an  anser. 

seemed  appearantly  satisfied,  and  continnerd  to 
^A?aifc  on  me;  and  I  could  see 't  yer  uncle  felt  oneasy 
by  tho  way  he  lookt  sideways  at  us  whenever  he  see 
us  together- — but  still  he  never  come  nigh  me  noi  of- 
fered tew  speak  tew  me — and  so  it  went  on  for  tew 
l^i.'}  months.    All  the  nabors  begun  to  talk  about 


240  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

Josiar  Canoot  and  mc — and  Siar  liimacif  was  a  te^izm 
on  me  to  know  whetlier  I  liadent  considered  eny  most 
long  enougli — and  what  to  dew  I  dident  know.  I 
was  nigh  upon  crazy — my  health  failed — I  hadent  no 
appetite,  nor  no  sperrits.  Yer  gram'ther  was  awful 
oneasy  about  me.  You  see  I  was  all  the  darter  she 
had  left  to  hum.  Yer  mar  was  married  and  gone,  and 
yer  Aunt  Bedott  was  married  and  gone  tew.  Well, 
I  got  to  be  a  miserable  critter.  One  evening,  arter 
supper,  I  was  in  a  dretful  state  o'  mind.  I  know'd 
Siar  was  a  comin'  that  night  to  git  Lis  anser,  and  I 
wanted  to  git  red  on  him.  So  I  huv  on  my  things 
and  slipt  out  and  went  up  to  Sister  Bedott's.  She 
lived  to  the  upper  eend  o'  the  village.  "Well,  I 
found  yer  Aunt  Bedott  to  hum  alone.  Yer  Uncle 
Hez  wa'n't  in — gone  to  some  meetin'  or  other — anr. 
Kiar  (he  was  a  baby  then),  he  was  asleep  in  the  cra- 
dle. "I'm  glad  you've  cum,"  says  Silh%  says  she, 
"  for  I 'm  awful  lonesome.  Hez  has  gun  olf  somewher 
— dear  knows  wher :  't  is  arnazin'  how  any  man  can 
be  willin'  to  leave  his  pardner  alone  lis  iiiucli  as  he 
does.  I 'm  clear  out  o'  patience  with  it- — ^if  it  liaden*. 
a  ben  for  that  fiambergasted  j'oung  one's  havin'  the 
snuffles,  I 'd  a  went  off  somewher  myself."  {Yer 
Aunt  Bedott 's  a  nice  Vv^oman^  but  she  was  always  an 
awful  grumbler — they  dew  say  she  jawed  the  deacor. 
out  o'  the  world.)  Well,  so  she  went  on  sooldin'  and 
frettin'  and  tellin'  her  troubles  and  trials,  for  ever  go 


AUNT  maguire's  experience.  241 


long;  at  last  I  broke  in,  and  says  I,  O !  Silly,  don't 
go  on  so — you  dont  know  what  trouble  is."  I  said  it 
In  a  kind  o'  way  that  startled  her,  and  says  she,  "  Me- 
liscy,  what  de^w  you  mean  ?"  I  bust  right  out  a  cry- 
in'.  Yer  Gcia*  huv  down  her  knittin'  work  and  come 
ap  tew  m?,  and  says  she,  iMelissy  Poole,  what  is  the 
matter  ?"  I  kept  on  a  cryin'  and  dident  anser.  ^.t 
^ast  say  she,  *'Ik^:w  tell  who,t  ails  you,  Melissy,  dew — 
*t  ain't  rothiii'  about.  Jo^hawaj  ^tlagwire,  I  hope.  I 
wo^ildent.  frefe  mj  gizzard  f jr  him ;  tlier 's  as  good 
fishes  in  the  sea  as  any 't  e\er  was  ketcht  yit."  "Well, 
alter  a  spell  -^hiliks  mc  —I  may  as  well  tell  her.  So 
I  telled  her  fac  hull  from  beginning  to  cend — how 
nigji  yer  uncle  come  to  pcppin'  the  question — v/Lat  I 
said  to  Hanner  Canoot — how  she  provoked  mo  to  say 
It — how  ondoubtedly  she 'd  told  Joshaway  on 't — and 
all  how  and  aboat  it.  Y/'ell,  at  fust  yer  aunt  blowed 
mc  up  sky  high,  for  makin'  such  an  unprudent  speecli 
(she  was  unprudent  enough  herself,  but  she  hadent 
no  patience  with  any  body  else  for  bein'  so).  At  last 
says  she,  "  What 's  said  can't  be  onsaid — the  only  way 
to  mend  the  mischief  is  for  Joshaway  and  you  to  git 
together  and  make  it  up  somehow."  "  But  how  can 
we  git  together,"  says  I ;  "I  can't  go  to  see  him,  and 
he  don't  never  come  to  see  me  no  more."  Artcr 
thinkin'  a  spell,  says  Silly,  says  she  (Silly  was  always 
a  cunnin'  critter),  I  've  got  it  now ;  you  jest  stay 
here  and  see  to  the  baby,  and  I  '11  run  into  the  Widder 

11 


242 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  TAPERS. 


Magwire's — it 's  a  good  while  sence  I 've  been  tlicnre. 
It 's  purtj  dark  now,  and  bj  the  time  I  come  hum 
it  '11  be  awful  dark,  and  Joshaway  he  '11  come  with  me 
— he 's  did  it  several  times — he 's  wonderful  pcrlite — 
and  when  we  git  to  the  door  I  'II  ax  him  to  come  in 
and  see  husband.  Hez  won't  be  to  hum 't  ain't  likelv 
— ^but  Josh  won't  know  but  what  he  is — and  when  he 
once  gits  in,  I'  11  bet  forty  gret  apples  j  ou  and  he  '11 
make  it  all  straight  purty  soon."  '*0,  Silly,"  says  I, 
"  that 's  a  real  good  idee — but  you  rnuster/c  let  him 
know  I 'm  here,  cause  if  jou  dew  lie  won't  come  in.'* 
"I  won't,  sartin  sure,"  says  she.  So  she  put  on  her 
things  and  off  she  went,  and  I  sot  dc  the  back  side 
o'  the  room  and  begun  a  contriyin'  -what  I  chould  say 
to  yer  uncle.  O,  Kancy !  you 've  no  idee  what  a  state 
of  preturbation  I  was  in — one  minnit  I  was  afeard  I 
shouldent  say  nothin'  to  no  pui'j)ose — and  the  next 
minnit  I  was  eny  most  sure  o'  gittin'  Josh  away  back 
agin.  Well,  Sister  Bedott  w^as  gone  a  hull  hour. 
You  see  Joshaway  wa'n't  to  hum  when  she  went,  and 
so  she  stayed  till  he  come.  It  did  seem  to  me  as  if 
she  w^as  gone  a  year.  A.t  last  I  heerd  'em  a  comin'. 
They  got  to  the  door  and  says  yer  uncle,  says  he, 
"Good  night."  "0,  you  come  in,  dew,"  says  yei 
Aunt  Silly,  says  she;  "Mr.  Bedott  wants  to  see  you 
amazinly."  "  Well,"  says  he,  "  I  '11  step  in  a  minnit.'' 
So  in  they  come.  "  Why,"  says  Sister  Bedott,  says 
she,  "  I  wonder  where  husband  is  I  you  set  down  by 


AUNT   MAG  U  I  re's   EXPEKijSNCE.  243 

the  fire  and  1 11  go  call  him — he  can't  be  fur  off,  I  *m 
sure ;  he  wouldent  go  off  and  leave  the  babj  alone." 
So  he  sot  down  with  his  back  to  me — (I  was  a  settin' 
where  he  dident  see  me),  and  she  went  off  into  t'  other 
room  and  shot  the  door.  Gracious  sakes  alive !  I 
never  in  mj  hull  life  experienced  such  feelins  as  I  did 
that  minnit — and  I  never  shall  agin  if  I  live  a  thous 
and  year.  It  seem'd  as  if  my  heart  would  jump  right 
out  o'  my  mouth.  Arter  a  minnit  or  so  I  hanCd — ^yei 
uncle  he  started  and  lookt  round — and  when  he  see 
me  he  riz  up  and  made  for  the  door.  Thinks  me, 
I  Ve  lost  him  now  sartain,  sure.  Jest  as  he  got  his 
hand  on  the  latch,  says  I,  "Mr.  Magwire !"  He  stopt 
and  lookt  round  at  me,  and  says  he,  "Did  you  speak 
to  me.  Miss  Poole  ?"  "  Yes,"  says  I.  "  What  did  you 
want?"  says  he; — ^he  spoke  so  cold  and  onconsarned, 
I  felt  clear  discurridged,  and  I  jest  bust  right  out  a 
cryin'.  So  then  he  come  up  to  me,  and  says  he,  "  Me- 
IIssv Says  I,  "  Joshaway,  what  makes  you  so  cold 
and  distant  to  me  lately  ?"  Says  he,  "  You  're  en- 
gaged, ain't  you,  Melissy  ?"  Says,  I  "  ISTo  I  ain't — no 
such  a  thing."  Arter  a  minnit  he  says,  says  he, 
"  V7  '^at  made  you  say  you  wouldent  wipe  yer  old 
.^h>r,c  on  me?"  "Cause  I  wouldent^''  says  I,  "and 
thrr  ain't  but  one  feller  in  the  town  I  would  sarve  such 
a  mean  trick,  and  that's  Siar  Canoot — he's  jest  fit  to 
wipe  old  shoes  on."  Now  Nancy  what  do  you  s'poze 
yer  uncle  done  then  ?    Why  he  hnv  his  arms  round 


244 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


mj  neck,  and  giv  ine  sncli  a  tliunderin'  smack  as  I 
never  got  afore  nor  sence.  "0,  Melissj,"  says  he, 
''we'll  be  married  arter  all  the  fuss — won't  we?*' 
"  I  shouldent  wonder,"  says  I.  And  we  was  married 
in  less  than  a  month,  and  I  hain't  never  had  no  'casion 
to  repent — for  he 's  made  me  a  fust  rate  husband ;  but 
only  think  how  nigh  I  come  to  losin'  on  him  jest  for 
speakin'  as  I  did  to  Hanner  Canoot.  She  hain't  never 
ben  nigh  me  sence  I  was  married — and  as  for  Siar, 
he  was  as  mad  as  the  Dragon. 


XXIII. 


j^EE  it 's  about  year  since  you  was  here,  ain't  it, 
Nancy  ?  'T  wasn't  long  afore  you  was  married,  I 
know.  Well,  ther 's  been  some  changes  here  since 
then.  We  Ve  lost  our  old  minister,  Parson  Scrantum, 
and  got  a  new  one.  He  seems  to  be  a  very  good  man, 
Parson  Tuttle  does — quite  young  yet — -jest  begun  to 
preach,  hain't  ben  married  but  a  little  while.  And  his 
wife  appeared  like  a  nice  woman,  tew.  But  I  feel 
sorry  for  'em.  This  is  a  trying  place  for  a  minister, 
and  a  minister's  wife,  tew.*  Though  I  don't  know  but 
what  all  places  are  jest  so.  All  goes  on  slick  enough 
yet — ^but  I 'm  afeard 't  won't  last  long.  They  hain't 
ben  here  but  three  months — and  the  folks  are  makin' 
a  terrible  fuss  over  'em.  You  know  it 's  the  way  they 
always  dew  when  they  git  a  new  minister.  They  're 
ready  to  eat  him  up  for  a  spell.  And  his  wife — law- 
ful sakes  !  ther 's  nothing  equil  tew  her.  They  make 
an  awful  parade  about  her.  Such  treatment  spiles  the 
minister'^'  wives.    Afore  long  they  begin  to  think 


246 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


tliemselves  the  most  important  cliaracters  in  creation — 
and  reallj  expect  the  hull  community  to  be  a  fljin' 
round  all  the  time  to  attend  tew  'em.  And 't  ain't  at 
all  surprisin'  it  should  be  so — it 's  accordin'  to  natur. 
But  after  a  spell,  the  minister  gits  to  be  an  old  story, 
and  the  people  begin  to  find  fault  with  him.  Some 
think  he 's  gittin'  wonderful  tejus ;  some  think  he  ain't 
gifted  in  prayer,  and  he  ain't  sperritual  minded  enough 
to  suit  some  others.  But  the  most  gineral  complaint 
is,  that  he  don't  visit  enough.  As  if  a  minister  could 
write  tew  sarmons  a  week — sometimes  three — and  go 
a  visitin'  every  day  besides.  And  then  his  wife — 't  is 
astonishin'  how  public  opinion  changes  consarnin'  her 
The  upper  crust  begin  to  think  she 's  a  troublesome 
helpless  critter.  Say  she  depends  on  the  congregation 
to  take  care  of  her,  and  all  that.  They  pick  flaws  in 
every  thing  she  says  and  does.  And  the  under  crust 
call  her  proud — say  she  visits  Miss  Tliis^  and  don't 
visit  Miss  That.  If  she  invites  some  of  her  neighbors 
to  drink  tea  with  her — some  o'  the  rest  '11  be  mad,  be- 
cause she  left  them  out,  and  say,  she  feels  above  'em. 
And  so  it  goes  on — gittin'  woss  and  woss — she  can't 
please  nobody.  After  a  spell,  the  deacons  begin  to 
hint  to  the  minister  that  it 's  gittin^  ruther  hard  to  raise 
his  salary,  and  wonder  whether  or  no  he  could  n't  live 
on  less.  If  he  thinks ^he  could  n't,  they  wonder  wheth- 
er or  no  he  could  n't  dew  more  good  in  some  other  place. 
So  at  last  they  drive  him  to  ax  a  dismission,  and  t^ie 


THE   DONATION  PARTY. 


247 


poor  man  takes  liis  family  and  goes  off  somewhere 
else,  to  go  tliroTigli  with  the  same  trials  and  troubles 
ov^or  again.  And  after  they 've  been  settled  about  a 
dozen  times,  the  minister  begins  to  find  out  that  all 
ain^t  gold  that  glitters ;  and  his  wife  if  she  is  a  woman 
o'  sense — discovers  that  she  ain't  a  supernatral  being 
and  must  take  care  of  herself,  like  other  folks. 

That 's  the  experience  o'  ministers  in  gineral.  I 
know  it  by  my  own  observation — and  I 'm  sure  it 
had  ben  the  case  with  tbe  Scrantums.  They 'd  ben 
settled  in  a  number  o'  places  afore  they  come  here ; 
and  Miss  Scrantum,  herself,  told  me  that  it  took  her  a 
good  while  to  larn  that  a  minister's  life  must  be  a  life 
o'  trial  and  self-denial.  But  she  did  larn  it  at  last. 
Miss  Scrantum  was  an  excellent  woman.  She  wa'n't 
no  gadder  nor  no  gossipper.  She  stayed  to  hum  and 
took  care  of  her  husband  and  children.  If  any  body 
was  sick  or  sufferin',  she  was  there  to  help  ^em ;  but 
she  seldom  vrent  out  any  other  time.  She  was  good 
to  the  poor,  tevv' — and  divided  her  mite  with  'em. 
You 'd  a  thought  folk?  couldent  find  fault  with  her. 
But  they  did.  Some  grumbled  because  she  w'n't  more 
sociable — and  some  was  mad  because  she  wa'n't  what 
they  called  an  active  Christian — that  is — she  wa'n't  wil- 
lin'  to  spend  the  heft  o"  her  time  a  runnin'  round  on 
missionary  bisness  and  distribitm'  tracts,  and  so  forth. 
But  every  hody  was  outrageous  at  her,  cause  she  tried 
to  reconcile  Liddy  Ann  Buel  and  Deacon  Fustick's 


248 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


wile — ^instid  o'  takin'  sides  with  arj  one  on  'em — wlien 
thej  had  that  awful  quarrel  about  the  ostridge  feath- 
ers. But  I  thought — and  think  yet — that  Miss  Scran- 
tum  acted  jest  as  a  Christian  ought  to  act  in  that  biz- 
ness,  though  every  body  else  blamed  her ;  and  Liddy 
Ann  and  Miss  Fustick  got  as  mad  at  her  as  they  was 
at  one  another. 

Parson  Scrantum  was  a  good  man,  tew — and  a 
smart  man — they  dident  know  how  to  vaUy  him  here. 
To  be  sure  he  went  away  of  his  own  accord ;  but 
I  s'pose  if  he 'd  a  wanted  to  stay,  they 'd  a  druv  him 
off  afore  long — -jest  as  they  always  dew — for  husband 
said  chey  was  beginnin'  to  growl  about  payin'  the  sal- 
ary. 1  cell  ye,  I  felt  dretfnl  sorry  when  they  went 
away,  and  so  did  yer  uncle—  wt  sot  a  great  deal  by 
'em.  And  then  they  had  such  a  nice  family  o'  child- 
ren. Susan,  the  oldest,  is  as  nice  a  gal  as  e/er  I 
know'd.  I  took  a  wonderful  likin'  *.ew  her.  Ixcr 
mother  used  to  let  her  come  in  often  und  set  a  spell 
with  me.  I  was  awful  lonesome  yl'tei  JeSerson  weuu 
off  to  study  to  be  a  doctor.  Yer  uncle  was  in  the 
shop  biggest  part  o'  the  day,  and  i  used  tc  be  hsre  ail 
stark  alone  a  good  deal  o'  the  time ;  and  y/hen  Miss 
Scrantum  found  out  how  lonesome  i  was  she  used  to 
send  Susan  over  sometimes  to  see  me  She 'd fetch  her 
sewin'  or  her  knittin'  and  stay  an  hour  or  tew ,  and 
sometimes  she 'd  fetch  a  book  and  read  tew  me,  and  it 
used  to  chirk  me  up  wonderfi^ry.    A  nd  Mr  Scrantum 


THE  DONATION  PAKTY 


249 


be  used  to  come  in  once  in  a  while,  and  always  had 
3ometh.in'  good  to  say. 

You  said  he  went  away  of  his  own  accord,  aunt ; 
how  did  it  happen  ?" 

"Well,  I  'II  tell  ye.  When  they  gin  him  a  call  to  set- 
tle here,  they  agreed  to  give  him  four  hundred  dollars 
a  3'ear  and  a  donation  party  every  winter.  TVell,  he 
thought  he  could  live  on  that.  Four  hundred  doiiai-s 
was  purty  small,  to  be  sure,  but  then  they  was  very 
equinomical  and  industrious — dident  keep  no  hired 
help  —Miss  Scrantum  and  Susan  done  all  the  work 
themselves.  And  they  thought  the  donation  party 
would  be  quite  a  help — they  never 'd  had  none — they 
wa'n't  customary  where  they  come  from.  Well,  they 
managed  tc  git  along  through  the  summer  and  fall. 
(They  come  here  in  the  spring  o'  the  year.)  In  De- 
cember foUerin'jthe  congregation  gin  'em  their  first  do- 
nation party.  I  dident  go  ;  I  never  had  ben  to  none ; 
used  to  kind  o'  want  to  go  sometimes — but  yer  uncle 
wa'n't  willin'  to  have  me — he  never  approved  o'  them 
givin'  visits.  He  thinks  that  when  the  people  want  to 
make  their  minister  a  present,  they 'd  ought  to  give  it 
in  a  private  v/ay,  and  not  go  and  turn  his  house  upside 
down,  to  dew  it.  So  I  dident  go  to  that  one.  But  I 
don't  think  the  Scrantums  thought  any  the  less  of  us 
for  it ;  for  they  know'd  v/e  was  as  willin'  to  dew  well 
by  'em  as  any  o'  the  congregation  was,  for  yer  uncle 
filways  paid  his  pew  rent  promptly,  and  that 's  more  'n 


250 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


some  that  was  riclier  done.  And,  besides  that,  we 
often  sent  'em  presents.  They  always  looked  upon  ua 
as  the  best  friends  th  ey  had  here. 

Well,  never  heerd  how  the  donation  party  come 
out.  Miss  Scrantum  never  said  nothing  about  it,  and 
I  never  axed  ber  no  questions ;  only  I  know  that 
through  the  rest  o'  the  Y/inter  the  minister's  folks 
seemed  to  be  more  pinched  than  ever.  I  was  in  there 
quite  often,  and  though  they  dident  make  no  com- 
plaints. I  could  see  plain  enough  that  they  had  to 
scrimp  and  save,  and  patch  and  turn  every  way,  to 
keep  any  how  comfortable ;  for  they  had  house-rent 
to  pay,  and  six  children  to  support,  and  it  takes  con- 
siderable to  feed  so  many,  to  say  nothin'  o'  clothin'  ana 
eddicatin'  on  'cm.  They  had  a  good  deal  o'  company, 
tew,  and  that  costs  something.  You  see  they  had  to 
entertain  all  the  stragglin'  agents  that  come  along,  for 
all  sorts  o'  societies  in  creation.  They 'd  stop  there  to 
save  payin'  tavern  bills.  It 's  the  way  they  always 
dew,  ye  know.  Well,  they  contrived  to  live  along 
till  the  next  winter.  The  time  come  round  for  anoth- 
er donation  party ;  and  I  says  to  yer  uncle,  says  I — 
"Husband,  I  wan't  to  go  to  that  givin'  ^-isit."  0. 
shaw,"  says  he,  "what  do  you  want  to  go  for?"  "0 
says  I,  'cause  I  think  so  mucii  o'  the  minister's  folks.'  " 
"  Well,"  says  he,  "  that 's  the  principal  reason  why  1 
should  want  to  stay  away  from  the  givin'  visit  myself, 
fis  for  you — of  course  you  can  do  as  ye  please." 


THE  PARTY. 


251 


Well,  tlieD,"  sajs  I,  "  if  jou  hain't  no  objections,  I'll 
go ;  and  I  wish  you  'd  go  tew,  jest  for  once.  'T  ain't 
no  use  to  ax  mt  to  go,"  says  he  ;  it 's  aginst  my  prin- 
ciples ;  I  always  mean  to  dew  all  I 'm  able  to  support 
the  Gospel  and  help  the  minister  ;  but  as  for  them 
hcea- — I  won't  countenance  'em  by  my  presence — that's 
all ;  and  let  me  tell  ye  one  thing,  if  you  go,  I  '11  bet  a 
cookey  you'll  wish  you  hadent  a  went  afterward." 
"  Well  that 's  my  look  out,"  saj- s  I.  "  If  you  're  wil- 
lin'— I  '11  go."  "  And  what  '11  je  take  ?"  says  he,  "  a 
stick  o'  tape,  or  a  pint  of  emptins,  or  what?"  "No,  I 
won't,"  says  I,  "  I  '11  take  something  o'  more  vally  than 
thaC    "  Then  you  '11  be  odd;'  says  he. 

So  after  considerin'  a  spell,  I  concluded  t*)  git,  what 
Miss  Scrantum  needed  about  as  much  as  any  thing,  and 
that  was  a  new  bunnit.  She  wore  a  shabby,  faded  old 
thing,  that  looked  as  if  it  came  over  in  the  ark.  Well, 
I  thought  I  could  git  a  ginteelei  one  in  Harristown, 
than  I  could  by  havin'  on 't  made  here.  So  I  got  yer 
unrle  to  harness  up  the  hoss  for  me,  one  afternoon, 
rind  bein'  as  he  was  tew  busy  to  go  with  me  himself,  I 
went  over  and  axed  Susan  Scrantum  to  go  'long ;  I 
thought  she  could  help  me  about  pickin'  on 't  out. 
She 'd  be  likely  to  know  what  would  suit  her  mother. 
So  I  goes  over  and  calls  for  Susan.  She  was  delighted 
to  go — she  dident  git  a  chance  to  ride  very  often. 
Well,  we  druv  to  Harristown,  and  went  into  the  best 
lookin*  milliner's  shop  ther  was  there.    "  Now,  Susy," 


252 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPKrwS 


says  I  "  I 'm  a  gwine  to  git  a  new  bunnit,  and  1  wav  i 
your  advice  about  what  to  cliooso."  "Why,  Mise 
Magwire,"  says  slie,  "  I  thouglit  you  liad  quite  a  nice 
one  a  ready,"  "  TVell,  it  is  middliu'  nice,"  says  I, 
but  I  Ve  wore  it  tew  winters,  and  some  ladies  gits  a 
new  one  every  winter,  ye  know. '  So  y/e  examined 
all  tlie  bunnits  in  the  sliop;  and  I  axed  Susan  whicli 
she  liked  the  best.  "  I  should  think  that  ono  would  be 
very  purfcy  for  you,"  says  she,  pintin*  to  a  plum-color- 
ed satin  one  that  hung  on  a  peg.  *'  It  *s  ma's  favorite 
color,  and  that  makes  me  like  it."  Now  that  was  jest 
what  I  wanted  to  know.  So  I  axed  the  milliner  to 
hand  it  down,  and  I  tried  it  on^  for  I  reckoned  if  't 
would  fit  me,  't  would  fit  Miss  ocrantum — she  was 
about  my  size — and  it  did  fit  nicely,  so  I  bought  it.  I 
had  to  pay  six  dollars  for 't — quite  a  launch  out  for  me 
— more  'n  ever  I  paid  for  a  bunnit  for  myself.  Susan 
looked  as  if  she  thought  I  was  ruther  extravagant,  but 
she  did  n't  say  nothing.  Well,  I  put  it  in  a  bandlx)x 
I  fetcht,  and  we  went  hum.  Wheii  yer  uncle  come  in 
I  showed  it  tew  him,  and  he  was  quite  pleasd  with  it ; 
and  was  a  clear  beauty,  plum-colored  satin,  trimmed 
off  with  a  ribbin  the  same  color,  and  lace  bordering 
with  white  satin  bows  between,  all  quilled  round  the 
inside.  I  axed  yer  uncle  if 'twas  more  expen.sive 
than  he  was  willin'  I  should  give.  "  ISTo/'  says  he,  "I 
don't  begrudge  the  mone}^  I  want  you  to  dew  the 
bansome  thing ;  but 't  would  suit  me  a  great  deal  bet- 


THE   DONATION  PARTY. 


253 


ter  if  you  wait  till  the  next  day  and  then  take  it  over." 
*'0  husband,"  says  I,  "I've  got  my  heart  sot  on  at- 
tending the  party ;  dew  lemme  go."  "  Well,  go,"  says 
hp,  ''if  you're  beset  tew;  but  mark  my  words,  I'll 
bet  a  dollar  you  'li  wish  you  had  n't. a  went." 

Well,  the  day  afore  the  party  Jefferson  come  hum 
t<:  stay  a  few  days.  I  told  him  I  was  gwine  to  the 
c  onatiou  party,,  and  he  said  he 'd  like  no  better  fmi 
thm  to  go  with  me.  Jeff's  always  ready  to  go,  you 
know.  So  he  went  and  got  a  ream  o'  nice  paper  for  the 
parson  to  write  his  sermons  on.  At  last  the  day  came, 
and  I  f-,rd  Jeff,  we  started  off  for  the  party.  We 
went  quiiv  early  in  the  evenin',  for  I  wanted  to  be 
there  Tore  'l  was  crowded.  Ther  hadent  nobody  come 
when  we  got  there,  only  three  or  four  ladies,  that  was 
a  gittin'  the  sapper  ready.  There  was  Glory  Ann 
Billins,  and  Polly  Mariar  Stillman,  and  Jo  Gipson'a 
wife,  and  old  mother  Parker  a  settin'  the  table.  You 
know  at  them  kind  o'  deA\dns  they  always  have  a  sup- 
per sot  for  the  company.  The  congregation  provides 
the  mtertainment  ginerally,  but  in  this  -place  the 
minister's  wife  has  to  find  a  good  share  on 't.  Miss 
Scrantum  found  the  tea  and  coffee,  and  sugar  and 
cream,  and  butter,  and  so  forth.  Some  o'  the  neigh- 
bors sent  in  cake  and  pies,  and  cheese  and  biscuit. 
But  Miss  Scrantum  was  afeared  ther  wouldent  be 
enough  o'  the  cake  and  pies — so  she  sent  to  the  baker'.-^ 
•and  got  a  mess  more.    Well,  I  axed  Miss  Gipson 


254  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

where  we  should  put  our  donations,  and  she  told  us 
to  take  'em  in  the  parlor  and  lay  'em  on  the  taok, 
Ther  was  a  table  there  a  purpose  to  put  the  dry  goods 
on.  The  provisions  was  carried  into  the  store-room 
So  we  went  in  there  and  laid  'em  on  the  table.  TLe 
bunnit  was  pinned  up  in  a  newspaper.  Jeff  he  sot 
down,  and  I  started  off  to  find  Miss  Scrantum.  I  found 
her  in  the  kitchen  a  makin'  coffee.  She  looked  dret- 
ful  tired  and  beat  out.  I  was  real  sorry  I  hadent  a 
went  sooner  and  helped  her.  She  was  wonderful  glad 
to  see  me ;  and  I  told  her  to  go  and  dress  herself,  and 
I 'd  make  the  coffee.  So  she  thanked  me  and  went-  - 
and  I  took  hold  and  made  the  coffee.  Ther  was  an 
awful  sight  on 't ;  I  never  made  so  much  afore  m  all 
my  born  days,  and  I  never  expect  to  agin.  'T  was 
made  in  Miss  Scrantum's  biler.  She 'd  scoured  it  up 
for  the  occasion.  'T  was  a  biler  that  held  ten  pails 
full — and  it  was  brimmin  full  o'  coffee.  After  I 'd  got 
it  made,  I  went  back  into  the  sittin'-room.  They 'd 
got  the  table  all  sot.  Ther  was  lots  o'  cake,  and  bis- 
cuit, and  pies,  and  cold  meat,  and  all  sorts  o'  stuff. 
Then  I  went  into  the  parlor,  and  lo  and  behold,  Jo 
Gipson's  wife  and  Miss  Parker  had  ondid  the  bunnit, 
and  was  admirin'  on 't  at»a  wonderful  rate.  Jest  then 
Mr.  and  Miss  Scrantum  and  the  children  come  in,  and 
dear  me!  how  pleased  they  were  with  the  bunnit. 
Miss  Scrantum,  she  tried  it  on,  and  it  fitted  her  to  a  T. 
But  Susan !  you 'd  ought  to  seen  Susan  !  She  jumped 


THE   DONATION  PARTY. 


255 


i.nd  frisked  aTOund,  a^.d  dident  hardly  know  what  to 
dew  -with  herself,  she  was  so  delighted.  "O,  Miss 
Magwire."  sajs  she,  that  beautiful  bunnit  wasn't  for 
you  after  all,  was  it  ?  "What  a  dear  good  woman  you 
to  n?.ake.  ma  such  a  nne  present.  She  '11  look  as 
Dic3  as  any  hody  now — won't  you  ma?"  They  seemed 
wonderful  "D"'.easad  to  see  Jefferson,  tew;  and  Mr. 
Scran  turn  was  very  glad  to  git  the  paper — said  't  w^as 
jist  what  he  w^anted.  Well,  purty  soon  the  company 
begun  to  come,  and  they  come  pourin'  in  thicker  and 
faster  till  the  house  was  crammed.  The  settin'-room 
door  was  locked,  so  as  to  keep  'em  out  o'  there  till 
supper  was  ready — and  I  tell  ye  all  the  rest  o'  the 
nouse  was  jest  as  full  as  it  could  stick.  The  parlor  and 
the  hall  and  the  bed-rooms  Vv^as  all  ciowded  and  cram- 
med. You 'd  a  thought  from  the  number  o'  folks 
that  was  there,  that  ther 'd  been  a  wonderful  sight  o' 
donations  brought — but  as  true  as  I 'm  a  livin'  critter 
-  -that  table  wa'n't  half  fall.  But  thei^  ther  w^as  a 
good  many  families  that  fetcht  one  article  to  answer 
for  the  hull.  For  instance.  Deacon  Skinner  and  his 
wife  and  four  darters  and  tew  sons  was  all  there — and 
Miss  Skinner  fetcht  a  skein  o'  yarn  to  knit  Parson 
Scrantum  some  socks.  Miss  Hopkins  and  her  three 
darters  and  her  son  and  his  wife,  that  was  a  visitin'  her, 
and  their  three  children  all  come — and  Miss  Hopkins 
brought  half  a  pound  o'  tea.  And  the  Eunyons  with 
their  four  young  ones — what  do  you  think  they 


266 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


brought?  wlij,  Miss  Kunjon  fetclit  a  little  fancy 
basket  to  stick  on  tlie  center-table  and  put  visitir-.' 
cards  in.  And  tlie  Miss  Footes,  three  on  the/ 
brought  Miss  Scrantum  a  pair  o'  culfs.  And  all  the 
Binghams,  thej  fetcht  a  neck  ribbon  for  Susan.  Anr 
Deacon  Peabody  and  his  tribe,  thei 's  as  much  as  a 
dozen  on  'em,  they  brought  a  small  cheese.  I  heerd 
afterward  that  half  o'  it  was  a  donation  and  t'  other 
half  was  to  go  for  pew  rent.  And  Cappen  Smalley  and 
all  his  children  was  there.  He  fetch  a  box  o'  raisLca 
out  o'  his  store,  ther  was  twelve  pound  in 't,  and  Susan 
told  me  after Vv^ard  that  ten  pound  was  to  go  toward 
pew  rent  and  the  rest  was  a  present.  The  Widder 
Grimes  and  Charity  was  there,  of  course.  They 
dident  go  nigh  the  donation  table  for  some  time,  and 
I  was  kind  o'  curus  to  know  whether  they 'd  brought 
any  thing,  and  so  I  watch'd  'em,  and  bimebye,  I  ob- 
served Charity  go  up  slily,  when  she  thought  nobodj^ 
did  n't  see,  and  lay  a  little  paper  on  the  table.  T  had 
the  curiosity  to  see  what  was  in  it,  so  as  soon  as  I  get 
a  chance  I  took  up  the  paper  and  peeped  into 't,  and 
lo  and  behold  !  there  were  two  skeins  o'  thread !  did 
you  ever  ?  Widder  Grimes  is  well  off,  but  she 's  tew 
stingy  to  be  decent,  and  Charity 's  jest  like  her.  Then 
there  was  ever  so  many  belonging  together  denomina' 
tions,  that  dident  bring  nothin' ;  they  come  to  show 
their  good  will,  to  let  folks  see  that  they  wa'n't  bigoted 
and  prejudiced,  though  they  did  differ  in  a  religio'ia 


THE   DONATION  PARTY. 


257 


pint  o'  viov^,  and  git  tlieir  supper.  And  besides  tliem, 
I  noticed  a  great  many  that  I  never  see  before — no- 
body inows  '^^iiere  they  come  from  nor  where  they 
went  tew.  I  guess  they  must  a  been  raised  up  for  the 
occasion.  Ar.d  then  ther  was  an  awful  sight  c'  chil- 
dren that  stragfjled  in  from  every  where.  Doctor 
Lippincott,  he  was  there,  bowin'  and  scrapin'  round  as 
usual — awfully  r.vnxious  about  every  body's  health ; 
and  his  wife,  tew,  a£  much  consarned  as  he  was — and 
their  promisin'  red-headed  bo}',  and  interestin'  darter, 
Anny  Marier,  with  her  six  starched  skirts  on — takiu' 
up  more  room  than  ary  ten  decent  drest  girls  in  the 
room.  The  doctor  always  goes  to  all  the  donation 
parties  for  fifteen  miles  round,  to  make  himself  popilar, 
but  nobody  knows  of  his  ever  t?tkin'  any  thin'.  On 
this  of^casion,  .4.nny  Mariar  took  a  hoolc-marh  to  Mr. 
Scrantum,  with  a  tiling  on  it  that  looked  like  a  cliop- 
pin^-hnifey  and  a  mess  o'  French  nonsense  below  it 
But  the  greatest  part  o'  the  performance  was  the  semi 
nary  gals  and  their  donation.  Ther  was  twenty -five 
on  'em,  and  what  do  you  suppose  they  fetcht  ?  Why, 
the  hull  kit  and  cargo  on  'em  had  conspired  together 
and  made  a  rag  baby  for  little  Adeline  Scrantum,  and 
rigged  it  up  .in  gauze  and  tinsel,  and  thev  all  come 
togethei  and  brought  that.  Miss  Pinchem,  their 
teacher,  wa'n't  there.  She  was  sick  o'  somethin'.  I 
guess  if  she  had  a  come,  she 'd  a  kept  'em  a  little 
straighter.    Land  o'  liberty'    I  never  see  such  an 


258 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEIIS. 


actin'  set  o'  critters  in  all  my  born  days!  Thev 
carried  on  like  all  possesct  I  see  some  on  'em  a 
flv-^urisbin'  round  Jeff — be 's  always  read}'  for  a  scrape, 
you  know- -and  I  \Yas  afeared  he 'd  git  to  carryin'  on 
with  'em  an'd  i  wouldent  a  had  him  for  any  thing,  so 
I  gin  him  a  caution.  "  Je:^,"  says  I,  "you  let  thera 
seminary  galls  alone ;  they  're  a  wild  set ;  't  ain't 
proper  to  cut  up  so  in  the  minister's  house."  Jeft 
promised  to  keep  clear  on  'em — he  generally  does  as 
I  want  him  tew.  I  '11  say  that  much  for  Jefferson,  he 's 
always  been  good  about  mindin'.  But  it  went  hard 
with  him  to  dew  it  then  ;  he  was  ripe  for  fun,  and 
determined  to  let  off  the  steam  some  way  or  other. 
So  he  looks  round  and  he  sees  Charity  Grimes  stuck 
up  on  the  settee 't  other  side  o'  the  room.  Stiff  as  a 
poker  and  prim  as  a  pea-pod — you  know  what  a 
starched  up,  affected  old  critter  she  is.  Jeff  w^ent  to 
school  tew  her  w^hen  he  was  little,  and  she  snapped 
his  ears  and  cuffed  him  round,  so  he 's  always  hated 
her  like  pizen  ever  since.  She 's  ben  tryin'  this  twenty 
year  to  git  married  and  can't  make  it  out.  She 'd 
chased  after  Squire  Fuller  ever  since  his  wdfe  died 
Squire  Fuller  got  married  about  a  month  afore  that — ■ 
and  yer  uncle  says  he  verily  believes  he  did  it  in  selr- 
defense,  jest  to  get  rid  o'  Charity  Grimes — she  bother'd 
him  to  death ;  he  couldent  go  out  in  company  but 
what  she 'd  contrive  to  hook  on  to  him.  He 's  a  very 
perlite  man,  the  Squire  is,  and  he  dident  want  tew  ]>e 


THE  DONATION  PARTY. 


259 


rude  to  her,  but  lie  couldent  bear  her,  tliougli  she  tried 
hard  to  make  folks  think  he  was  her  beaux.  At  last 
he  got  married,  quite  suddenly,  to  a  young  woman  in 
Chenang  county ;  and  yer  uncle  sa^ys  he  don't  belie \^e 
he 'd  a  done  it,  if  it  hadent  a  ben  to  get  rid  o'  Charity 
Grimes ;  for  his  wife  had  ben  dead  five  year,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  uncommon  contented  for  a  widdiicer. 
But  I  was  gwine  to  tell  you  what  Jeff  done.  He  see 
Charity  a  sittin'  there  a  tryin'  to  dew  the  agreeable  to 
Cappen  Smalley  Qiis  wife  hadent  been  dead  long — • 
by  the  way,  they 'd  make  a  good  match,  wouldent 
they  ?)  "VYell,  Jeff  says  to  me,  says  he—"  Mother, 
may  I  go  stir  up  Charity  Grimes?"  "I  don't  know 
what  you  mean  by  stirrin'  on  her  up,"  says  I.  "  0," 
says  he,  "I  jest  want  to  condole  with  her  a  little  on 
the  loss  o'  Squire  Fuller."  "No,"  says  I,  "you 
needent  dew  no  such  thing ;  't  would  be  very  im- 
proper, indeed,  and  very  aggravating  tew."  "  Well," 
says  he,  "  may  n't  I  jest  go  and  talk  a  little  Shake- 
speare tew  her  ?  (Jeff 's  always  quotin'  Shakespeare, 
you  know.)  "  I 'm  afeerd  you  '11  say  something  sassy," 
says  1.  "  No  I  won't,"  says  he.  "  I  '11  be  all-killin' 
perlite."  "  Well  go,  then,"  says  I.  So  off  he  steps, 
demure  as  a  deacon.  "  Good  evenin'.  Miss  Grimes," 
says  he.  "Good  evenin',  Mr.  Magwire,"  says  slie. 
"It  seems  like  old  times  to  see  you  agio,"  says  he; 
and  then  he  obsarved  to  Cappen  Smalley — "  I  used  to 
go  to  school  to  Miss  Grimes  when  I  was  young.' 


260 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Charity  puckered  up  her  mouth  and  grinned,  and  says 
she.  Yes,  you  was  quite  a  boy  then — and  I  wfus  a 
mere  child  myself,  exceedingly  youthful  for  a  teacher." 
"  Well,"  says  Jeff,  says  he,  "you  hain't  altered  a  spek 
since — ^you  hold  your  own  amazingly — you  looked 
every  bit  as  old  then  as  you  dew  now ;  but  how  do 
you  feel  about  these  days  ?"  "Feell"  says  she,  pickjn' 
up  her  ears,  "I  feel  as  well  as  common — why  should- 
enti?"  "Excuse  me,"  says  Jeff,  "I  only  axed  be- 
cause I  did  n't  know  but  you  felt  ruther  nonplussed, 
put  to 't  for  business  as  it  were,  since  Squire  Fuller 
got  married.  '  Old  feller's  ocerpation 's  gone'  now,  I 
s'pose,  as  Shakespeare  says."  Graciotis!  how  mad 
Charity  was !  She  brustled  up  like  a  settin'  hen,  and, 
says  she — "Jeff  Magwire,  I  don't  care  a  straw  for 
what  Shakespeare  nor  none  o'  the  rest  o'  your  rowdy 
acquaintances  says  about  me,  I 'm  above  it ;  but  who- 
ever he  is,  you  may  tell  him  he 's  an  impudent  puppy, 
for  callin'  a  young  lady  an  old  feller — and  you  'I'e 
another  for  tellin'  on 't."  So  she  got  up  and  flounced 
out  into  the  hall.  The  folks  all  giggled  and  seemed 
wonderful  tickled;  but  Jeff,  he  looked  round  as 
astonished  as  he  could  be,  and  says  he — "  I  wonder 
what  ails  Miss  Grimes.  I  thought  for  the  life  o'  me 
she  was  a  gwine  to  snap  my  ears,  as  she  used  to  when 
I  was  young."  I  was  vexed  at  Jeff,  and  took  him  to 
task  as  soon  as  I  got  a  chance ;  but  lie  declared 


THE   DONATION    PAUT7.  261 

't  wasn't  "  old  feller''^  he  said,  but  sometliin'  else — how- 
ever, it  sounded  jest  like  it,  any  way. 

Just  then  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  we  Avas 
invited  out  to  supper.  So  we  went  squeezin'  and 
cro:^^din'  into  the  settin'-room.  Some  o'  the  folks 
pushed  and  jammed  as  if  they  were  afeared  they 
shouldent  git  the  best  chance.  Glory  Ann  Billins  sot 
at  one  end  o^  the  table  a  pourin'  coffee,  and  Jo  Gip- 
son's  wife  at  the 't  other  end  a  pourin'  tea ;  and  I  tell 
ye,  't  was  as  mucli  as  ever  they  could  dew  to  pour  it 
fast  enough.  Jeff,  he  flew  round  and  '  helped  the 
ladies.  For  my  part,  I  dident  feel  like  eatin'  much — 
I  was  jammed  up  agin  the  wall  and  couldent  stir  hand 
nor  foot.  So  I  told  Jeff  to  fetcb  me  a  cup  o'  tea  and 
nut-cake,  and  he  did ;  and  I  took  'em  and  managed  to 
eat  the  nut- cake,  but  somebody  hit  my  elbow  and 
made  me  spili  the  heft  o'  the  tea ;  so  I  stood  and  held 
my  empty  cup,  and  looked  on  to  see  the  performance. 
I  say  for 't  if 't  wa'n't  wortli  seein',  I 'm  mistaken. 
Why,  if  I  was  a  starvin'  to  death,  I  shouldent  be 
willin'  to  act  as  some  o'  them  folks  did.  They  pushed, 
and  elbowed,  and  pulled,  and  hauled,  and  grabbed 
like  crazy  critters.  'T  was '  amusin'  to  see  'em  put 
down  the  vittals — I 'd  a  gin  a  sixpence,  Nancy  to  had 
you  there ;  't  would  a  ben  fan  for  you  to  look  on  and 
see  the  dewins.  You 'd  a  thought  the  biggest  part  o' 
the  company  hadent  had  nothin'  to  eat  since  the  last 


262 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


donation  party,  and  dident  expect  lo  have  notbir.' 
more  till  the  next  one. 

The  wimmin,  as  a  general  thing,  took  tea,  and  eat 
the  cake  and  pies,  and  so  forth.  And  the  men,  they 
let  into  the  coffee,  and  biscuit,  and  cheese,  and  cold 
meat,  and  such  like.  I  actilly  see  Deacon  Sldnner 
drink  six  cups  o'  3offee.  and  eat  in  proportion.  And 
Dr.  LiDpincott,  my  grief!  'twas  perfectly  astonis bin' 
to  me  that  one  mortal  body  could  hold  as  much  as 
that  man  put  in — no  wonder  he 's  so  fat — they  say  he 
gits  the  heft  of  his  livin'  away  from  home — contrives 
to  git  to  one  patient's  house  jest  as  dinner 's  ready, 
and  to  another's  jest  at  tea  time,  and  so  eats  with  'em. 
And  I  wish  you 'd  a  seen  the  "Widder  Grimes.  Gram- 
many  !  how  the  critter  did  stuff!  I  took  partickler 
notice  of  her,  and  I  see  she  had  an  awful  great  work- 
bag  on  her  arm,  and  every  little  while  she 'd  contrive 
to  tuck  a  piece  into 't  when  she  thought  nobody  wa'n't 
a  lookin'.  As  soon  as  I  got  a  chance,  I  hunched  Jeff, 
and  says  I — ^'For  pitty 's  sake,  Jeff,  do  obsarve  the 
Widder  Grimes."  So  Jeff,  he  watched  her  a  spell. 
"By  George!"  says  he,  "if  that  ain't  rich!"  I  tell 
ye,  't  was  fan  for  Jeff.  Bimeby — after  she 'd  got  her 
bag  purty  well  filled,  says  Jeff  to  me,  says  he — "ISTow, 
mother,  may  I  stir  her  up  a  little  ?"  I  don't  care," 
says  I.  So  he  reached  forrard  and  hollered  across  the 
table  tew  her,  loud  enough  for  every  body  to  hear — 
"Miss  Grimes,  may  I  come  to  your  party?"  "My 


THE   DON^^TION  PARTY. 


263 


party  ?"  says  she ;  "  wiiat  do  yoa  mean  ?"  Why," 
says  Jeff^  says  he,  "I  reckoned  from  the  size  o'  your 
bag,  and  the  quantity  provissions  you  was  a  layin' 
in,  that  you  was  a  caiculatin'  to  make  a  party,  and  I 
thought  I 'd  Hke  to  come."  Every  body  looked  at 
Miss  Grimes ;  and,  I  tell  ye,  she  looked  as  if  she 'd 
like  to  crawl  into  some  knot-hole — and  I  don't  know 
but  what  she  did,  for  she  made  her  disappearance 
amazin'  soon  after.  And,  then,  them  seminary  gals — 
PTSXjious !  how  they  did  eat  f  I  s'pose  they  was  half- 
rtar\^ed  at  Miss  Pincnem's.  Afors  long  the  table  was 
purty  well  cleared,  and  Miss  Scrantum  had  to  go  to 
the  buttry  and  bring  on  all 't  was  left.  I  guess  e^  ery 
thing  in  the  house  that  could  bo  eat,  without  stoppin' 
to  cook  it,  was  made  way  with  that  night.  When 
the  seminary  gals  had  eat  all  they  wanted,  they 
amused,  themselves  a  throwin'  hunks  o'  cheese  and 
buttered  biscuit  at  the  young  men.  After  most  o'  the 
other  eatables  had  been  disposed  of,  Dave  Runyon, 
grea'j  gump !  went  into  the  buttry  and  broiight  out 
the  box  o'  raisins  that  was  to  go  toward  Cappen  Smal- 
ley's  pew-rent,  and  handed  'em  round.  Every  body 
grabbed,  especially  the  seminary  gals,  and  children, 
till  ther  wa'n't  one  left  in  the  box.  When  supper  was 
about  finished,  Jane  Elizy  Fustick  (she 's  always  a 
tryin'  to  dew  something  cunnin'),  she  went  into  the 
stare -room  and  got  a  chain  o'  sassages,  that  old  Miss 
Crocker  brought,  and  come  along  sHly  and  throw 'd 


^64  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEiwS 

't  round  Liph  Peabody'  s  shoulders.  Lipb,  he  was  a 
Stan  din'  by  tbe  teaboart'  a  diinkin'  a  cup  o*  coffee. 
When  be  felt  the  sassages  come  floppiii'  round  liis 
neck,  he  wo.s  skairt,  and  v^hisked  round  suddenly  and 
hit  the  tea-board,  and  knocked  it  off  onto  the  floor, 
and  smash  went  every  thing  on  it !  What  made  it 
more  aggravatin'  vras,  ther  was  a  dozen  chany  cups 
and  sarcers  on  it  that  Miss  Scrantum  iiad  fetcht  out 
after  the  folks  come  out  to  supper.  Thej  Avas  some 
that  she  sot  a  great  deal  by ;  her  mother  giv  'em  tew 
her,  and  her  mother  was  dead.  She  dident  bring  'em 
on  at  first,  for  fear  they 'd  git  broke.  She  sot  on  all 
her  common  crockery,  and  borrerd  a  good  deal  r.t 
Smalley's  store,  calculatin'  if  any  on 't  was  broke  to 
pay  for 't.  But  when  she  see  so  many  folks  come 
crowdin'  out,  she  was  afeard  ther  wouldent  be  cups 
enough,  so  she  fetcht  out  her  mother's  chany  cups  and 
sot  'em  on  the  tea-board.  But  Glor}^  Ann  got  along 
without  usin'  'em,  and  there  they  sot,  and  when  the 
tea-board  fell,  they  fell  tew,  and  every  one  on  'em 
was  broke  or  cracked.  Gracious !  how  Miss  Scrantum 
looked  when  she  see  her  precious  chany  all  to  pieces. 
She  dident  say  a  word,  but  her  lips  quivered,  and  she 
trembled  all  over.  But  she  seemed  to  overcome  it  in 
a  minnit,  and  Avent  away  and  brought  a  basket  and 
begun  to  pick  up  the  pieces,  and  Jeff  and  I  took  hold 
and  helped  her.  A  good  ^iiany  o'  the  company  had 
gone  back  into  the  parlor;  but  ther  was  enough  le^ 


THE   DONATION   PARTY.  265 

to  track  the  sassage  round,  and,  my  goodness!  what 
work  thej  made  with  'em  !  While  we  was  a  pickin' 
up  the  crockery,  all  of  a  sudden  ther  was  a  terrible  hul- 
lerballoo  in  the  parlor — Jeff  -  and  me  rushed  in  to  see 
what  was  the  matter,  and  gracious  granfather !  what 
do  you  s'pose  it  was  ?  "Why  one  o'  them  pesky  sem- 
inary gals  had  throw'd  a  hunk  o'  cheese  and  hit  Miss 
Scrantum's  parlor  lamp  that  was  a  settin'  on  the  table, 
and  knocked  it  over  and  broke  it  all  to  flinders.  But 
that  wa'n't  the  wost  on 't — where  it  tumbled  over  it 
fell  right  onto  that  plum-colored  sattin  bunnit,  and  the 
ile  run  all  over  it  in  a  minnit.  Afore  any  body  could 
ketch  the  bunnit,  one  side  on 't,  ribbon  and  all,  was 
completely  ruined.  Such  a  sight  as 't  was,  you  never 
sot  your  tew  lookin^  eyes  on !  All  the  ile  that  dident 
go  onto  the  bunnit  was  soaked  up  in  the  paper  that 
Jeff  took,  that  was  a  lyin'  right  aside  on 't,  and  the 
biggest  part  o'  that  was  spiled  tew.  My  grief!  how  I 
did  feel  when  I  see  that  beautiful  bunnit  ia  such,  a 
condition  I  And  poor  Miss  Scrantum  turned  pale  as 
death,  and  Susan  cried  like  every  thing.  I  axed  Sam 
Lippincott  (the  doctor's  red-headed  boy)  who  't  was 
that  throwed  the  cheese — ^he  pinted  out  the  gal,  and  I 
goes  up  to  her,  and,  says  I — You  good-for-nothin' 
little  huzzy  hain't  you  no  better  manner  i  than  to  be  a 
thro  win'  cheese  at  other  folkses  lamps  in  that  way  ?'•' 
She  was  a  real  sassy  little  thing,  and  dident  care  a 

straw  for  what  she 'd  done.    She  looked  up  and 

12 


2(56  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

grinned  as  imperdent  as  could  be,  and  sajs  she — "  Ex- 
cuse me,  marm — I  had  n't  the  most  remote  idee  o* 
hittin'  the  lamp.  I  meant  to  aim  at  Sam  Lippincott's 
head,  and  mistook  the  lamp  for  it.  I 'm  sure  you 
can't  blame  me  for  makin  sich  a  natral  mistake."  Did 
you  ever  I  I  was  a  good  mind  to  hit  her  a  cuff  aside 
o'  the  head,  but  I  dident.  I  told  Miss  Pinchem  on 't, 
though,  the  next  day — and  she  punished  the  huzzy 
by  keepin'  her  on  bread  and  water  a  week.  Jeff  said 
'twas  a  very  equinomical'kmdi  o'  punishment.  Well, 
the  party  broke  up  purty  soon  after  this  scrape,  and 
Jeff  and  me  went  hum.  Jeff  went  off  to  bed.  Yer 
uncle  was  out ;  dear  me  I  how  I  did  dread  meetin' 
him  I  Afore  long  he  come  in.  "Well,"  says  he, 
"  how  did  the  party  go  off  ?"  "  0,  well  enough,"  says 
I;  *'but  I'm  tired  and  sleepy,  and  we  won't  talk 
about  it  to-night."  The  fact  is,  I  felt  tew  mean  to  tell 
him  the  truth — ^but  in  the  mornin',  when  Jeff  come 
down,  he  let  it  all  out.  My  grief!  how  yer  uncle  did 
crow  over  me.  "Didn't  I  tell  ye  so?"  says  he; 
"  don't  ye  wish  you  had  n't  a  went  ?"  "  Yes,"  says  I, 
"  if  it 's  any  satisfaction  tew  jq  to  know  it — I  dew 
wish  so."  "  I  know'd  ye  would,"  says  he.  I  verily 
believe  he  was  glad  the  bunnit  got  spiled. 

The  next  mornin',  as  soon  as  I  got  my  chores  done 
up,  I  went  over  to  Mr.  Scrantum's  to  see  how  they 
come  on,  and  help  'em  regilate  a  little.  Murder-alive ! 
Buch  a  sight  as  that  house  was,  from  one  end  to  t'  other, 


THE   DONATION  PARTY. 


287 


I  never  sot  my  tew  lookin'  eyes  on  1  The  carpets 
was  all  greased  up  with  butter,  and  cheese,  and  sassa- 
ges.  1  nd  then  the  lamp  ile  had  done  more  mischief 
than  we  know^d  on  the  night  afore.  It  had  run  off 
the  table  and  made  a  cruel  great  spot  on  the  best  car- 
pet ;  and  I  found  Miss  Scrantum  a  tryin'  xo  wash  it 
G'j.t  I  sot  tew  and  helped  her — ^but  ^t  want  no  use — 
't  wouldent  come  out.  Susan,  she  was  a  settin'  on  a 
little  stool  a  sco  arin'  teaspoons,  and  cryin'  as  if  her 
heart  woula  break.  ^'What's  the  matter,  dear?" 
says  I — but  the  poor  child  couldent  answer  me.  So 
hei  mother  said  she  was  a  cryin'  about  the  bunnit 
bein' spiled.  " No  wonder,"  says  I,  "it's  enough  to 
make  any  body  cry.  I  s'pose  you  can't  dew  nothin' 
with  the  bunnit,  can  you?"  "  O,  yes,"  says  Miss 
Scrantum,  says  she ;  I 've  ben  lookin'  at  it  this  morn- 
in\  and  I  think  I  can  get  enough  out  of  it  to  make  a 
bag  of.  It  '11  make  a  very  nice  bag — and  I  shall  keep 
it  as  long  as  I  live,  for  your  sake,  Miss  Maguire."  I 
looked  at  the  woman  with  surprise.  There  she  sot 
01?  the  floor,  a  rubbin'  away  at  that  grease  spot,  and  a 
talkin'  as  calmly  about  that  six  dollar  bunnit,  as  if 
it  hadent  a  cost  more'n  six  cents.  I  was  kind  o' 
irex(.d  a  her  for  not  makin'  more  fuss  about  it.  I  ao* 
tilly  begun  to  think  she  hadent  no  feelin',  and  dident 
care  for  nothing.  "And  then,"  says  I,  "to  think  o' 
iheir  breakin'  your  beautiful  chany — 't  was  shameful 
present  from  her  mother  tew ;  and  you  sot  so 


268 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


mucli  by  it;  and  I've  heerd  ye  say  'twas  tlie  last 
tiling  ysr  mother  ever  giv  ye."  I  was  a  runnin'  on  in 
that  way  when  I  thought  I  heerd  Miss  Scrantum  sob 
— I  looked  up  and  she  was  a  cryin'  dretfully.  She 
couldent  hold  in  no  longer  when  T  spoke  o'  the  chany. 
I  Tv^as  sorry  I  said  a  word  about  it ;  but  it  convinced 
me  that  Miss  Scrantum.  had  feehns,  deep  feelins  ;  but 
she  *d  larn't  to  control  'em,  poor  woman  I  Well,  I 
stayed  a  spell  and  helped  'em  clean  up,  and  then  I 
went  hum.  Susan  went  to  the  door  with  me.  "When 
we  got  outside,  I  axed  her  whether  ther  was  many 
provisions  brought  in  the  night  afore.  She  told  me 
10  come  to  the  store-room  and  look.  So  I  went  into 't 
and  took  a  view,  and  there  was  tew  or  three  punkins, 
a  couple  o'  spare  ribs  {spare  enough,  tew,  I  tell  ye), 
tlicce  or  four  cabbages,  a  chicken,  what  was  left  o' 
Deacon  Peabody's  cheese,  and  a  codfish.  '^Is  ha+ 
all?"  says  I.  "Yes,"  says  Susan,  *'and  half  o'  the 
cheese,  and  one  o'  the  spare  ribs  and  the  chicken  are 
to  go  for  pew-rent — I  heerd  pa  tell  ma  so ;  but  you 
rnustent  let  'em  know  I  told  you  about  it — ^for  they 'd 
think  it  wrong  for  me  to  speak  of  it ;  you  won't  ".ell 
cm,  will  you.  Miss  Maguire?"  ''  No,  dariin'/'  says  I; 
"  I  won't  let  it  out."  So  I  went  hum — and  as  I  went 
along  oonsiderin'  the  matter,  I  come  to  a  unaniTnous 
conclusion  in  my  own  mind,  that  donation  par'des  was 
a  humbug. 

Well,  the  next  Sundj^y  Parson  Scrantum  requested 


THE   DONATION  PAETT. 


269 


the  male  members  of  liis  congregation  to  meet  him 
tlie  next  evenin'  at  the  meetin'-house.  Yer  nncle 
went  to  the  meetin'.  I  was  in  a  wonderful  fidgit  to 
know  what  was  the  object  on 't — and  quite  impatient 
for  husband  to  come  hum.  "When  he  come  I  obsarved 
he  was  oncommonly  tickled  about  something.  "  What 
is  the  matter?  dew  tell,  for  pity's  sake,"  says  I. 
"  Why,  the  minister's  axed  a  dismission,"  says  he. 
"  You  dop't !"  says  I.  "Jest  so,"  says  he;  and  then 
he  haw-haw'd  out  a  laffin.  "  What  ails  ye,  man  alive  ?" 
says  I ;  "I  don't  see  what  ther  is  to laff  at  in  that ;  for 
my  part,  I  look  upon 't  as  a  great  misfortin  to  Scrabble 
Hill,  to  lose  such  a  minister  as  Parson  Scrantum.  I 'm 
astonished  to  see  you  laff."  "  Well,  you  won't  be," 
says  he,  "when  I  tell  ye  about  the  meetin'."  So  he 
went  on  and  gin  me  the  hull  description.  He  said 
that  when  Mr.  Scrantum  told  'em  he  wanted  a  dismis- 
sion, they  was  wonderful  surprised — Deacon  Skinner 
he  riz  and  axed  the  reason.  So  Mr.  Scrantum  stated 
that  he  found  it  onpossible  to  support  his  family  on 
his  salary.  Deacon  Skinner  said  that  was  curus — he 
thought  four  hundred  dollars  was  purty  icell  up.  Dea- 
con Peabody  said  he  thought  so  tew,  especially  with  a 
donation  party  besides.  Deacon  Fustick,  he  put  in,  and 
said 't  was  ruther  a  queer  time  for  a  minister  to  com- 
plain of  his  congregation,  jest  after  they 'd  gin  him  a 
hee — and  he  axed  Dr.  Lippincott  what  was  Ms  opinion. 
CNow  Dr  liippincott  never  had  an  opinion  in  all  his 


270 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


life,  on  any  subject — if  he  liad,  he  never  expressed  it 
for  fear  of  injurin'  his  practice ;  't  ain't  even  known 
what  his  politics  is — ^he  always  contrives  to  he  away 
on  election  days.)  So  he  hemmed  and  hawed,  and 
said  that  really  he  had  n't  made  up  his  mind — he  hoped 
Mr.  Serantum  'preciated  his  donation  party — ^he  hoped 
the  congregation- 'predated  Mr.  Serantum  ;  he  wished 
— he  wished  things  was  n't  sittiwated  jest  as  they  was 
sittiwated  ;  and  that  was  all  they  got  out  of  him.  Old 
Parker  observed  that  minister's  families,  somehow^ 
took  more  to  support  'em  than  any  body  else.  Mr. 
Serantum  said  that  his  family  was  as  equinomical  as 
they  could  be,  but  he  had  a  good  many  children,  and 
*t  was  purty  difficult  to  dew  as  he 'd  ought  tew  by  'em 
on  four  hundred  dollars  a  ear ;  axed  'em  whether 
they  thought  ary  one  o'  them  could  dew  it.  Cappen 
Smalley,  rich  old  cur  mud  gin,  stuck  up  his  head  and 
said  he  guessed  he  could  dew  it — any  reasonaUe  man 
could  dew  it — especially  with  the  help  of  a  donation 
party  every  year ;  but  he  hoped  Mr.  Sorantum's  re- 
quest would  be  granted  unanimously  for  his  part,  he'd 
long  ben  of  opinion  they 'd  ought  to  have  a  cheaper 
minister,  and  one  that  had  n't  such  a  snarl  o'  young 
ones.  I  don't  s'pose  Parson  Serantum  would  a  said 
any  thing  severe  if  it  hadent  a  ben  for  Cappen  Smal- 
ley's  speech.  He  seemed  quite  stirred  up  by  it.  He 
riz  up  considerable  flustrated,  and  says  he — "  I  thank 
God,  that  what  ever  else  I  lack,  He  has  ben  pleased  to 


THE   DONATION  PARTY. 


271 


give  ma  plentj  o'  tlie  poor  man's  blessins — joa,  a 
C'oiver  full  of  tliem.  And  it 's  for  tlieir  sakes,  not 
mjj  own,  that  I  como  here  to-niglit.  If  I  was  alone  in 
the  world,  I  could  and  would  dew  on  a'  most  nothing 
— though  Scripter  saj^s  thd  laborer  is  worthy  of  his 
hire.  Brethren,  since  I  come  among  you,  I 've  done 
my  best*  to  be  a  faithful  pastor — if  I 've  failed  I  hope 
to  be  forgiven.  At  first  I  had  an  idee  that  a.  should 
bo  able  to  rub  along,  on  my  small  salary ;  and  T  don't 
know,  bnt  I  might  a  done  it,  if  it  had  n't  co  ben  for 
one  iJiihg.''^  Here  he  paused.  What  was  thatf^  says 
Deacon  Peabody.  Mr.  Scrantum  contim-ed — "I've 
ben  here  tew  years,  and  you 've  had  the  kindness  to 
give  me  tev  donation  parties.  I've  stood  it  so  fur, 
but  I  can't  stand  it  no  longer ;  brethren,  I  feel  con- 
vinced that  one  more  donation  party  would  completely 
hreah  me  doiun,  I  will  now  retire  and  leave  the  meet- 
in'  to  decide  as  they  see  fit."  Yer  uncle  said  that  for 
about  five  minutes  after  he  went  out  universal  silence 
pievailed.  The  first  to  speak  was  Deacon  Skinner. 
"  Strange  i''  says  he.  "  Gurus !"  says  Deacon  Peabody. 
^'  i^emarkable !"  says  Deacon  Fustick.  "  Onaccount- 
able !"  says  Cappen  Smalley.  "  Singular  circum- 
stance 1"  says  Dr  Lippincott.  Then  yer  uncle  got  up, 
and,  says  he — "  Gentlemen,  I  don't  see  any  thing 's 
to  be  gained  by  settin'  here  and  wonderin'  all  night. 
For  my  part,  I  think  all  Parson  Scrantum 's  said 
is  truD — his  request  is  perfectly  reasonable — and  T 


272 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAl'EKS. 


move  it  be  put  to  vote."  So  'twas  put  to  vote  a^.d 
granted. 

A  few  days  afterward  tlie  minister's  folks  packed 
up  and  started  off  for  Miss  Scrantum's  father's,  to  stay 
till  they  could  git  another  place.  Yer  uncle  gin  'em 
ten  dollars  when  they  went.  He 'd  a  ben  glad  to  give 
fii'ty  if  he 'd  a  ben  able.  They  was  very  thankful 
for 't,  and  the  parson  gin  us  his  partin'  biessm',  and  I'd 
ruther  have  that  than  all  Cappen  Smalley's  money. 
TVe  all  felt  bad  enough  when  we  said  good-by.  Miss 
Scrantum  cried  hard — she  dident  try  to  conceal  her 
feelins  then.  Susan  cried  tew,  and  so  did  I — and  we 
had  a  gineral  time  kissin'  all  round ;  as  true  as  I  live, 
Jeff,  he  kissed  Susan  tew — ^but  don't  you  teaze  him 
about  it ;  I  was  glad  to  see  him  dew  it,  though  Susan 
did  blush  awfully.  They  made  us  promise  to  come 
and  see  'em  if  ever  they  got  another  sittiwation. 
We 've  heerd  lately  that  the  parson  had  got  a  call  to 
Bangtown.  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  the  village, 
but  1  hope  to  gracious  it 's  a  place  v/here  donation  par* 
ties  is  a  thing  unknown. 


XXIV. 


P(tguir^  fronts  Df  tire  Cunt^mglat^ly  ^^toing 
§0nefa  at  SmbbU  f  ill 


E  're  a  gwine  to  liave  a  Sewin'  Society  at 


Scrabble  Hill.  Miss  Birslej,  lawyer  Birsley's 
■wife,  was  tbe  first  one  that  proposed  it.  She  hain't 
Kvec*  here  but  about  a  year,  and  she 's  always  ben 
osed  to  such  societies  where  she  come  from,  so  she 
felt  as  if  she 'd  like  to  have  one  here.  Miss  Birsley's 
jest  the  woman  to  take  hold  o'  any  such  thing.  She's 
«.  wonderful  active  little  body,  and  a  real  good  woman 
tew.  But,  above  all,  she 's  got  a  way  o'  sayin'  jest 
what  she  pleases  to  every  body  without  even  givin'  any 
ofiense.  I 've  often  wondered  how  it  was  that  Miss 
Birsley  could  speak  her  mind  so  freely  and  never 
make  no  enemies  by  it.  "Why,  if  I  should  venter  to 
talk  half  so  plain  as  she  does  I  should  be  univai-sally 
hated.  But  she  comes  right  out  with  every  thing 
she  thinks,  and  yet  she 's  more  popilar  than  any 
cthex  woman  in  the  place.  I  guess  it  mus-  be  because 
folks  has  found  out  that  she  never  says  no  wuss 
hbouf  'em  to  their  backs  than  she  says  to  their  faces 


12* 


274 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Well,  slie  come  into  our  liouse  one  day  last  week  (sLo 
and  I 's  very  good  friends) ;  she  come  in  and  axed  me 
how  I'd  like  to  jine  a  Sewin'  Society  for  benevolent 
purposes  ?  I  told .  her  that  not  knowin'  I  couldent 
say,  for  I  hadent  never  belonged  to  none.  So  she 
went  into  an  explanation  ;  and  after  I  understood  the 
natur  of  'em  I  liked  the  idee,  and  said  I 'd  go  in  for 
it.  So  she  wanted  me  to  go  round  with  her  and  talk 
it  up  to  the  folks ;  and  as  I  dident  see  no  reason  why 
I  shouldent,  I  put  on  my  things  and  off  we  started. 
The  first  place  we  went  to  was  the  minister's — \7e 
thought  we 'd  like  to  see  what  Miss  Tuttle  thought 
about  it  afore  we  spoke  to  any  body  else.  Well,  Miss 
Tuttle  said  she  approved  o'  so  win'  societies — she 
thought  they  was  quite  useful  when  they  was  properly 
conducted.  She  dident  know  how  the  plan  v/ould 
work  here — at  any  rate,  it  was  well  enough  to  trj^, 
and  she 'd  be  glad  to  help  us  all  she  was  able  to. 

Next  we  w^ent  to  Deacon  Skinner's.  The  Widd?r 
G  rimes  and  Charity  was  there  spendin'  the  day,  so  W3 
discussed  the  pint  with  'em  all.  Miss  Skinner  and 
the  gals  seemed  quite  took  with  the  idee ;  but  Charity 
and  her  mother  rather  hesitated  at  first,  but  after 
they'd  axed  forty  questions,  and  we'd  tola  'em  alJ 
about  it,  and  they 'd  satisfied  themselves  thai;  hej 
could  git  along  Wxthout  givin'  smy  thing  more  thai* 
their  time  for  an  hour  or  tew  a  week,  and  git  their 
tea  to  boot,  they  agreed  to  jine.   So  Miss  Birsley  took 


CONTEMPLATED   SEWING   SOCIETY.  275 

down  their  p.ames.  We  dident  conclude  what  we 
should  dew  with  the  avails  o'  our  labor — thought 
we 'd  discuss  that  matter  at  the  first  meetin' ,  and  Misci 
Rirslej  said  she'd  have  'em  meet  to  her.ho^Lse  the 
next  w'eek  a  Wensday. 
When  we  come  away  from  there,  I  saj^s,  saypi  I, 
We  must  n't  forgit  to  go  to  see  Liddy  Ann  Ruill." 
"0  yes,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  the  old  maid  that  keeps 
the  milliner's  shop  *'  ISTow  I  hadent  the  least  idee 
ehe 'd  jine,  but  I  knov/  'd  she  never forgive  us  if  wfc 
d'dent  call  on  her.  Sho^a  u  curut  cvitter — consatf^i^ 
that  some  folks  feels  above  her,  and  it  makeL*  Lcr  won- 
derful oncomfbrtable.  She 's  always  on  a  look  out  for 
slights  and  insults,  and  o'  course  she  thinks  she  git^ 
plenty  on  'era  She  hates  Deacon  Fustick^s  wife  I^ke 
pizen,  on  account  some  remarks  she  heerd  o'  Miss 
Fustick's  makin'  about  the  ostridge  feathers  she  wpre 
^n  her  bunnib  winter  afore  last.  Miss  Fustick  stiid 
*if()re  old  Miss  Crocker,  that  she  thought  Liddy  Ann 
P»uiU  v/as  tew  old  to  wear  plumes.  Old  mother 
Crocker  went  straight  and  told  Liddy  Ann  on 't,  and 
bLo  was  hoppin'  mad  about  it.  She  went  round 
talkin'  about  Miss  Fustick  at  a  terrible  rate.  Of 
course,  Miss  Fustick  talked  back  agin,  and  it  led  to 
an  awful  quarrel  that  ain  t  made  u]3  yet  That  bunnit 
vjos  a  curiosity  though.  Blue  vslvet  with  a  couple  o' 
great  long  yaller  feathers  tipped  wi'.h  pink  on' t,  and 
red  flowers  in  the  inside.    "  I  kncTf  she  v/on't  jiae,** 


276 


WIDC(V   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


B'^ys  I ;  "  but  we  may  as  well  call,  for  site  '11  be  awfiil 
mad  if  we  don't."  "I  guess  I  can  manage  ler,"  ssija 
Miss  Birsley.  I  know  she  thinks  I  feel  above  her^ 
but  I  '11  see  ef  I  can't  convince  her  she  mistaken." 
So  in  we  goes — Liddy  Ann  was  a  sewin'  a  stra^v 
bnnnit.  She 's  ginerally  pretty  perlite  to  me  -  /  s  pose 
elie  thinks  I  ain't  proud — ^but  when  she  see  me  long 
o'  MLss  Birsley,  she  thought  I  d  naturally  feel  ruther 
lifted  up  (bein'  as  Miss  Birsley  belongs  to  the  upper 
crust),  and  so  she  \l  treat  me  accordin'lv.  She  looked 
up  when  we  ^J.iia  In,  -ind  .-^in  us  a  wonderful  stiff 
bow— never  laid  by  her  sewin'  — dident  even  ax  us  to 
sit  down — but  there  she  sot,  head  up,  nose  in  the  air 
(she  V  got  a  sing'lar  way  o'  turnin'  up  her  nose  at 
folks),  with  a  real  I  'm-as-good-as-you-be  look  on  her 
fcice,  and  eewed  away  as  if  her  life  depended  on 't.  I 
felt  ruther  aukerd,  but  Miss  Bii-sley  dident  seem  to. 
She  looked  down  into  the  show-box  that  sot  on  th3 
counter,  and  says  she,  What  a  beautiful  assortment 
o'  ribbins — ^you 've  jest  got  ^em  up,  hain't  you,  Miss 
Bitill  ?"  "  I  have,"  says  Liddy  Ann.  "  That  greei? 
and  whits  plaid  one a  beauty,"  says  Miss  Birsley — 
"Won't  you  please  to  let  me  look  at  it?"  "Can't 
you  lift  the  kiver  and  take  it  oi?.t  yerself  ?"  says  Liddy 
Ann,  says  she.  "  0  y<?s,  to  be  sure,"  says  Miss 
Birsley — "  I  dident  know  as  I  might."  So  she  took 
:t  out  and  admired  it  wonderfully.  "What  a  firm 
stout  ribbin  it  is  tew?'*  says  she — "  Why,  Miss  Buill, 


CONTEMPLATED   SEWING   SOCIETY.  277 

you  make  better  selections  than  the  merchants  dew." 
"  When  /  buy  ribbins  I  buy  ribhins^  and  not  shavin's," 
says  Liddy  Ann.  "So  I  see,"  says  Miss  Birsley. 
*'  I  '11  take  three  yards  on 't,  if  you  please."  I  won- 
dered whether  the  critter 'd  condescend  to  git  up  and 
•wait  on  her — ^but  she  couldent  help  it — so  she  riz  with 
a  great  deal  o'  dignity  and  measured  it  off.  Miss 
Birsley  paid  for 't ;  and  then  she  happened  to  notice  a 
straw  bunnit  that  laid  on  the  shelf — 't  was  one  that 
Liddy  Ann  had  been  dewin'  over  for  Loanthy  Petti- 
bone — ''How  white  this  bunnit  is!"  says  she — "1 
don't  see  how  you  can  m^ake  old  straw  look  so  nice." 
"  When  I  bleech  hats  I  hleech  'em,"  saj^s  Liddy  Ann ; 

I  don't  tan  'em."  "  So  I  perceive  says  Miss  Birslej^, 
Bays  she — "  but  I  declare  I 'd  a'  most  forgot  my  arraud 
— we  're  a  tryin'  to  raise  a  Sewin'  Society,  Miss  Buill, 
and  we  called  to  see  whether  you  wouldent  jine  ?" 
"  Me !"  says.  Liddy  Ann,  lookin'  a  leetle  grain 
pleasanter 'n  she  did  afore — "well,!  don't  know — 
""'m  fearful  you  won't  succeed  in  yer  undertakin'." 
•'*Why  not?"  says  L  "0,*'  says  she,  "society  here 
ain't  united  as  it  ought  to  be — indiwiddiwals  don't 
pull  together  at  all."  "  Well,  then,"  says  Miss  Birslej^, 
"mabby  a  Sewin'  Society  would  be  the  means  o' 
makin'  'em  more  united — it  promotes  good  feolin'  to 
meet  together  and  work  for  some  benevolent  objict— 
makes  folks  take  an  interest  in  one  another,  you 
kflow."    "  0,  but 't  wculdent  be  the  case  here,"  says 


278  WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPE'KS. 

Liddj  Ann;  ''there's  tew  mncli  rastocratical  feelin 
— some  o'  tlie  members  would  carry  their  heads  so 
high,  and  think  themselves  so  much  better  'n  some 
others ;  and  them  others  would  hiow  they  was  jest  as 
good  as  the  rest — for  my  part,  shouldent  want  to  put 
myself  in  the  way  o'  bein'  put  down  and  stompt  on 
afterward  by  Deacon  Fustick's  wife  and  sach."  Miss 
Birsley,  she  raised  her  hands  and  eyes,  and  says  she, 
The  land  alive ! — well,  I  declare,  if  I  ain't  beat  now 
to  hear  you  go  on  at  such  a  rate.  Miss  Buill !  You 
look  well  a  talkin'  about  aristocracy  when  ^^ou  've  got 
more  on 't  than  anybody  else  in  the  village.  Why,  I 
always  thought  you  was  very  proud  and  haughty; 
and  I  guess  it 's  the  general  impression  that  you  feel 
above  your  neighbors.  I  was  half  afeared  to  come  in 
here  to-day,  you 've  always  been  so  scornfid  toward 
me ;  but  now  I  am  here,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  speak 
plainly — and  I  '11  tell  you  what^  if  you  raly  want 
society  to  be  united,  you  must  be  the  first  to  set  the 
example.  You  must  lay  aside  some  o'  yer  pride,  and 
consent  to  associate  with  yer  neighbors  on  equil  tirms." 
(Liddy  Ann's  nose  come  down  a  peg,  and  she  raJy 
looked  quite  gratified.  Thinks  me,  these  ere  folks 
that's  forever  a  blazin'  away  about  aristocracy,  are 
always  willin'  enough  to  have  the  name  o'  bein'  aristo- 
crats themselves,  and  would  be  so  actilly  if  they  had 
a  chance).  Miss  Birsley  went  on — ''  Kow,  if  you  're 
sincere  in  what  you  say,  do,  for  pity's  sake,  show  it 


CONTE 21  PLATED  SEWING  SOCIETY.  279 


by  comin'  to  tlie  Sewin'  Societ}^  We  expect  all  tlie 
otier  girls  '11  come — the  Skinners  liave  agreed  to,  and 
we  intend  to  call  on  tlie  rest,  and  no  doubt  they'll 
jine."  Liddy  Ann's  nose  come  down  another  peg  to 
hear  herself  classed  with  the  girls.  She  looked  eny 
mos6  good-natered.  "Well,  I'll  see  about  it,"  says 
she — ''but  why  don't  you  take  some  cheers  and  set 
down?"  *'Beca'':<se  you  hain't  invited  us  tew,"  says 
Miss  Birsley.  Tear  me,"  sajs  Liddy  Ann,  "  how 
forgitful  I  be!"  "No  matter,"  says  Miss  Birsley, 
we  can't  stay  to  set  down  now — ^but  you  will]'mQ  us, 
won^x  you?  we  depend  a  great  deal  on  your  taste,  and 
the  other  girls  all  seem  to  give  up  to  you  in  that  re- 
spect." Liddy  Ann  fairly  dropt  her  nose  to  a  level 
with  other  folkses,  and  actilly  smiled,  and  says  she — 
"  Well,  takin'  all  things  into  consideration,  I  ruther 
guess  1  will  jme."  So  Miss  Birsley  took  down  her 
name,  and  told  her  not  to  fail  to  attend  the  first 
meetin'  at  her  house  next  Wensday.  She  promised 
she 'd  come ;  and  then  she  went  to  the  door  with  us 
mighty  gracious,  and  hoped  we 'd  call  on  her  agin. 
After  we 'd  got  on  a  piece,  says  I,  "  Well  I  dew  say 
for 't,  I  never  was  more  beat  m  all  my  born  days  than 
I  was  to  see  3^ou  git  round  that  cross-grained  old 
critter  as  you  did  I  I  dident  know  afore  that  you  ever 
used  any  soft  soap,  but  I 'm  sure  you  daubed  it  onto 
Liddy  Ann  right  and  left ;  't  was  the  best  way  after 
all  though,  for  if  you 'd  a  took  her  to  ta^k  about  beiu* 


280 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


jealous  and  suspicious,  she 'd  a  beu  tearin'  mad,  and 
like  enougli  showed  us  the  door,  and  tlisn  went  round 
and  jawed  about  us  afterward."  "Jest  so,"  says  Miss 
Birslej,  "the  only  way  to  deal  with  suchrfolks  is  to 
try  to  make  them  satisfied  with  themselves ;  make  'em 
think  you  look  upon  'em  as  persons  o'  sooae  conse- 
quence, and  they  '11  dew  any  thing  you  want  'em  tew ; 
and  then,  tew,  there 's  a  satisfaction  in  it,  because  ft 
makes  'em  feel  so  much  more  comfort?-b'e  and  good* 
natered." 

The  next  pla<ie  we  went  to  was  Dr.  Lippmcott's. 
Miss  Lippincott  was  pleased  with  the  idee  of  a  Sewin' 
Society,  and  said  she 'd  jine.  Anny  Mariar  sot  there 
a  playin'  on  the  pianner,  and  we  axed  her  if  she 
wouldent  take  hold  and  help  us?  "Dear  me,  no!" 
says  she ;  "  I  can't  bear  to  sew,  and,  besides^  I  don'j 
understand  it.  I  never  had  to  sew  any."  "  How  olo 
are  you?"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "  Eighteen,"  says  Anny 
Mariar.  "  The  land  alive !"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  eight- 
een year  old  and  don't  know  how  to  sew  I — and  you 
can  set  there  and  tell  on 't  without  blushin'  I  Why 
what 's  yer  ma  ben  thinkin'  about  all  this  time  to  neg« 
lect  yer  eddication  so  ?  I  declare,  I  must  tell  Dick  o* 
that ;  I  shan't  allow  him  to  git  interested  in  a  young 
lady  that  don't  know  how  to  sew" — (Dick  was  her 
nephew  ;  he  was  a  studyin'  law  ^vith  Mr.  Birsley,  and 
was  quite  attentive  to  Anny  Mariar.)  "  Well,"  she 
went  on,  "  it 's  high  time  you  larnt,  and  if  you  '11  ooni* 


CONTEMPLATED  SEWING  SOCIETY.  281 

to  the  Sewin'  Society,  I  '11  engage  to  teach  you.'* 
Miss  Birsley  said  all  this  in  a  pleasant,  good-natered 
way,  but  Miss  Lippincott  felt  it,  and  so  did  Anny  Ma- 
riar.  I  guess  she  begun  to  suspect  that,  after  all, 
'twa'n't  so  wonderful  lady-like  not  to  know  how  to 
sew.  She  promised  she 'd  attend  the  meetin'  next 
week.  "  That 's  good,"  says  Miss  Birsley ;  "  but  don't 
for  pity's  sake,  wear  all  them  petticoats,  for  I  don't 
think  ther  '11  be  room  for  'em  if  the  meetings  large." 

"When  we  come  from  there,  we  started  for  Deacon 
Fustick's  and  while  we  was  a  crossin'  the  road  we  ob- 
served Cappen  Smalley  a  standin'  in  his  store  door. 
"  There 's  the  cappen,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  now  we  '11 
go  in  and  make  him  give  us  something  to  begin»with." 
"Gracious  sakes!"  says  I,  "I  hope  you  don't  expect 
to  squeeze  any  thing  out  o'  him ?"  "To  be  sure  I 
dew,"  says  she.  "  Well,  you  '11  fjnd  yerself  mistaken," 
says  I;  "for  he  never  gives  nothing  to  no  objict — al- 
ways takes  it  out  in  talkin'."  "  You  see  'f  I  don't 
make  him  hand  over,"  says  she.  When  the  cappen 
se^'  us  a  comin'  he  went  in  so 's  to  be  ready  to  wait  on 
us.  "  Cappen,'  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  we  hain't  come 
to  trade  to-day ;  we 've  come  on  bizness.  We  ladies 
are  thinkin'  o'  startin'  a  Sewin'  Society  for  benevolent 
objicts,  and  it 's  quite  important  to  git  the  opinion  o' 
the  leadin'  men  o'  the  place  afore  we  begin.  What  do 
you  think  o'  the  plan,  cappen?"  "A  capital  plan, 
*\ys  he,  '*  a  most  excellent  idee.    I 've  long  been  of 


282 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


opinion  that  sometliin'  o'  the  kind  was  needed  here— 
it 's  a  great  satisfaction  to  be  laborin'  for  the  good  of 
our  feller-critters.  To  what  partickler  purponse  do 
you  intend  to  c^evote  the  avails  o'  ycr  labor  ?"  "  Woll,"- 
says  she,  "we  hain't  decided  yet;  we  shall  wait  till 
we  git  started,  and  then  consider  the  matter — ther 's 
enough  ways  o'  dewin'  good  with  money,  you  know. " 
'•  Exactly,"  says  the  cappen,  says  he,  "  and  I  wo  aid 
suggest  the  idee  o'  your  expendin'  yer  funds  in  the 
purchase  of  articles  o'  clothin'  foi  the  poor ;  ther 's  a 
great  number  in  destitute  circumstences  in  this  pkce, 
and  it  strikes  me  it  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  the 
ladies  to  furnish  'em  with  comfortable  apparril." 
"  That  is  a  good  idee,"  says  Miss  Birsley— "  don't  yoxa 
think  so,  Miss  Maguire  "  *^  Yes,"  says  1.  I 'm  glad 
it  strikes  you  favorably,"  says  the  cappen,  says  he  ; 
"  and  come  to  think,  I  have  on  hand  a  variety  o'  ma- 
terials that  would  be  suitable  to  make  garments  for  the 
poor ;  and  if  you  see  fit  to  purchase,  I  '11  let  you  have 
'em  at  first  cost,  seein'  it 's  for  a  benevolent  objict.  In 
such  cases  it 's  always  a  satisfactioii  to  me  to  sell  low.'' 
You  're  very  kind,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  we  '11  mention 
It  at  the  meetin' ;  but  we 've  got  to  have  some  funds  to 
begin  with.  You  can  give  us  something,  I  s'pose  ? '' 
"  Well,  raly,"  says  the  cappen,  says  he,  rubbin'  his 
hands  together,  "I'm  very  sorry,  very,  indeed,  that 
it 's  happened  so.  It 's  very  inconvenient  jest  now — 
in  fact,  its  onpossible  for  me  to  giv4  any  thing  at  thi5 


CONTEMPLATED   SEWING   SOCIETY.  283 


time.  I  have  a  large  remittance  to  make  very  soon  to 
New  York,  aiad,  of  course  I  can't  spare  a  penny.  We 
men  o'  bizness  that  Lave  large  outstandin'  debts  are 
often  more  put  to 't  for  ready  money  tkan  a  day-labor- 
er— it 's  very  vexatious,  very,  indeed."  "Yes,"  says 
Miss  Birsley,  "  it  must  be  so — ^it  must  be  very  try  in' 
to  you  to  be  scant  o'  money  when  you  have  a  call  to 
contribbit,  it 's  such  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  give  " — ■ 
(here  she  gin  me  a  hunch) — "  but  that  don't  make  no 
difference  to  us,  we 'd  jest  as  live  take  sometliing  out 
o'  the  store — for  instance,  some  o'  this  ere  cotton  cloth 
— (and  she  stept  up  to  a  pile  o'  shirtin'  that  laid  on  the 
counter) — "  you 'd  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  give  us  a 
piece  o'  this"  "Bat — ^but,"  says  the  cappen,  "I 
raly  don't  feel.''  "Now,  cappen,"  says  Miss  Birsley, 
you  needent  apologize  a  word,  tliis  is  very  nice  cloth 
and  it  '11  be  jest  as  good  to  us  as  money — it  '11  make  first 
rate  sbirts,  and  we  can  always  find  ready  market  for 
good  shirts.''  But,"  says  he,  "  consider  a  minnit — a 
piece  o'  shirtin'  is — "  "  0  now,  don't  talk  so,  cappen," 
says  she  ;  "a  piece  o'  shirtin 's  jest  exactly  as  good  as 
any  thing  else,  and  we 'd  jest  as  live  have  it  as  the 
money ;  for  if  we  had  the  money  we  should  have  to 
spend  it  to  buy  materials  to  begin  on.  We  know 
''^  would  be  more  of  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  give  us 
ive  dollars  if  't  was  convenient ;  but  seein'  it  ain't^ 
we  're  perfectly  willin'  to  take  this — so  jest  please  to 
^ew  it  up;"  f^o  she  picked  oat  one  o'  the  best  piecci 


284 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


and  tumbled  it  down  toward  him.  The  cappen  ho 
looked  awful  womblecropt — I  declare,  I  ralj  pitied  the 
poor  man — he  hesitated  a  minnit,  and  then,  caU  jou 
believe  it  ?  he  actill j  took  the  cloth  and  done  it  up ! — 
but  I  tell  ye,  I  never  see  such  an  oncomfortable  look- 
in'  countenance  as  his  'n  while  he  was  a  dewin'  on 't. 
•'Kow,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "I  '11  trouble  you  to  write 
on 't — '  Thirty-one  yards  shirtin'  presented  to  the  La- 
dies' Sewin'  Society  by  Captain  Smalley.'"  So  he 
took  a  pen  and  writ  it,  and  I  '11  be  hanged  it  ne  did- 
ent  look  as  if  he  was  a  signin'  his  own  death  warj:ant. 
"Much  obleeged  to  ye,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  and  she 
took  up  the  cloth  and  we  come  off.  When  we  got  to 
the  door,  she  turned  round,  and  says  she,  "  Mabby  it 
will  be  a  satis/action  to  ye,  cappen,  to  buy  some  o'  the 
shirts  after  we  git  'em  made  ?"  The  caupen  he  gin  a 
ghastly  grin,  and  a  peculiar  kind  of  a  bo^v  as  much  as 
to  say — You  see  'f  you  ketch  me  agin,''  and  io  we 
bid  him  good-afternoon,  and  left  him  to  his  mc-dita- 
tions.  "  TVell,"  says  I,  "  I  '11  give  it  up  now ! — if  I 
hadent  a  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  I  never  \l  a  oe- 
lieved  it,  never  !  How  astonished  every  boav  '11  be 
when  they  hear  on 't?"  "Yes,"  says  Miss  Birsley: 
"  but  we  mustent  let  on  how  we  got  it  out  of  hnn — 
't  aiD't  right  to  tell  o'  such  things — we  must  let  .ib"'k. 
think  he  gin  it  of  his  own  accord."  Jest  so,"  f-ays  I ; 
but,  thinks  me,  its  tew  good  to  keep,  and  I  must  teH 
Mr.  GodeT/  on 't  though  I  won't  mention  it  to  any  body 


CONTEMPLATED   SEWING   SOCIETY.  285 

else.  "Well,  it  was  a  pretty  heavy  load  to  carry,  and 
Miss  Birsley  proposed  we  should  take  it  into  her  hus- 
band's office  and  leave  it.  The  office  was  nigh  by,  so 
we  goes  in.  Miss  Birsley  huv  it  down,  and  says  she 
to  her  nephew,  "  There,  Dick,  I  wan't  you  to  bring 
that  up  when  you  come  home  to-night."  Squire  Birs- 
ley looked  at  it  and  read  the  writin',  and  says  he, 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Cappen  Smalley  gin  you 
this  ?"  To  be  sure  he  did,"  says  she  ;  "  don't  you 
believe  his  own  words  ?"  "  Pretty  cunnin'  in  you," 
says  the  squire,  "  to  git  it  in  writin',  for  fear  he 'd  be 
down  on  yer  society  with  a  bill."  "  0  law !"  says  she, 
"jest  as  if  I  done  it  for  that."  Dick  Wilson  he  look- 
ed up  kind  o'  knowin',  and  says  he,  "  It  takes  you  to 
come  itj  Aunt  Lucy." 

Next  we  went  to  Deacon  Fustick's.  Miss  Fustick 
and  Jane  Elizy  had  gone  to  Deacon  Peabody's  to  tea, 
BO  we  went  round  there,  and  had  a  chance  to  see  'em 
all  at  once.  Miss  Peabody's  entirely  governed  by 
Miss  Fustick  in  every  thing,  so  she  waited  to  see  what 
Miss  Fustick  would  say  afore  she  expressed  her  opin- 
ion about  the  Sewin'  Society;  and  Miss  Fustick  don't 
want  to  go  into  any  thing  without  she  can  be  head 
man,  and  as  she  was  n't  sure  how  she 'd  stand  m  the 
Sewin'  Society,  she  hesitated  a  spell.  At  last  she  said 
she  had  her  doubts  about  it — dident  like  to  undertake 
a  thing  till  she  was  convinced  't  would  promote  the 
interests  o'  religion — (Miss  Fustick 's  awful  pious  ac* 


286  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

cordin'  to  her  idees  o'  pietv.)  Of  course,  Miss  Pea« 
body  had  her  doubts  tew,  about  jinin'  the  society. 
Miss  Birsley  and  me,  we  both  said  tew  'em  that  we 'd 
no  doubt  but  what  the  Sewin'  Society  would  be  the 
means  o'  dewin'  a  great  deal  o'  good  if 't  was  properly 
conducted.  Well,  Miss  Fustick  said  she  was  onsaitin' 
about  bein'  able  to  attend — her  time  was  pretty  much 
took  up — she  was  Superintendent  o'  the  Maternal  So- 
ciety, President  o'  the  Daughters  o'  Temperance,  and 
Correspondin'  Secretary  to  the  Friends  o'  Humanity, 
and  she  was  afeard  she  couldent  consistently  do  much 
for  the  Sewin'  Society ;  but  she 'd  try  to  attend  occa 
sionally — at  least  she 'd  make  it  a  subject  o'  prayer^ 
and  try  to  find  out  what  was  dutij  in  the  case.  Of 
course,  Miss  Peabody  said  she 'd  try  to  attend  tew — 
and  then  we  axed  ther  daughters  whether  they 'd  come  ? 
Sophrony  Peabody  inquired  whether  the  gentlemen 
was  a  gwine  to  attend?  We  said  that  hadent  ceen 
thought  of  3^ct.  And  Jane  Elizy  Fustick  said  she 
hoped  in  all  favor  they  wouldent — if  they  did,  she 
wouldent  any  how — she  couldent  bear  to  have  the  fel- 
lers stickin'  round.  "Why  can't  you  speak  the 
truth,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "and  say  you  won't  como 
without  they  do  ?"    At  last  they  both  said  they 'd  jino. 

Next,  we  went  into  Jo  Gipson's,  and  there  we  fonT>i 
Tom  Hodges'  wife  a  visitin'  with  her  young  one.  O: 
all  the  children  I  ever  see,  that  boy 's  the  disagreea- 
blest  •  but  his  mother  don't  think  so.    She  makes  a 


CC.T  .I'EMPLATED   SEWING  SOCIETY.  287 

natral  fool  of  him — always  takes  liim  eyery  v/here 
with  her,  and  it  takes  every  body  in  the  Louse  to  at- 
tend to  him.  He  was  a  settin'  on  his  mother's  lap  eat- 
in'  an  awful  great  hunk  o'  cake,  makin'  a  dretful  growl- 
in'  noise  over  it  that  eny  most  prevented  our  hearin* 
one  another  talk.  After  we 'd  discussed  the  Sewin' 
Society  with  the  ladies,  and  they 'd  both  said  they 'd 
jine,  Miss  Birsley  says  to  the  young  one,  "  Come  here 
and  see  me,  bub.'*  "Me  won't  I"  says  he.  "He'd 
ruther  stay  by  his  mommy,  hadent  he,  darlin'  ?"  says 
Miss  Hodge.  "  Stay  there,  then,  if  you  want  to,  little 
cross-patch,"  says  Miss  Birsley.  I  felt  ruther  sorry  to 
hear  her  speak  out  so,  so  I  says,  "  What 's  yer  name, 
ducky  ?"  "  Nun  o'  oo  bidness  1"  says  he.  "  0  now,'' 
:?ays  his  mother,  "can't  he  be  a  little  man  and  tell  the 
lady  his  name?"  "Me  won't  I"  says  he,  and  he  hit 
his  mother  a  slap  in  the  face.  "  Now  that  ain't  prit- 
ty,"  says  she ;  "  mommy  '11  cry,"  so  she  put  her  hands 
up  to  her  face  and  pretended  to  cry.  After  a  spell, 
says  she,  "  Now  tell  the  lady  his  name  nice  and  pritty, 
and  then  mommy  '11  stoj  cryin'."  But  instid  o'  tellin* 
hie  name,  he  begun  to  bawl  for  more  cake.  "  Wait  a 
minnit,  Miss  Gipson,"  says  Miss  Hodge,  "I  want  the 
ladies  to  hear  him  tell  his  name,  he  says  it  so  sweet 
n:3d  cunnin'.  Now  tell  the  lady  his  name,  and  then 
he  shall  have  more  cake."  "Yando  PufHe  Hojs," 
says  the  little  torment.  "  That 's  a  darlin',"  says  hia 
mothei — "  now,  Miss  Gipson  may  gil  him  a  great  big 


288 


TVIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


piece  o' cake."  ""What  did  he  say  his  namb  va*j?'' 
says  Miss  Birsley.  Orlando  Perciva]  Hodge,"  say? 
his  mother.  "  The  land  alive !"  says  Yk,s  Birsley^  "  jl 
declare  I  don't  blame  the  young  one  fo:-*  rxCt  wantin* 
to  tell  his  name."  ''What!  don't  you  like  it?"  says 
Miss  Hodge.  ''No,"  says  Miss  Birsley;  " I  don't  ad- 
mire do-ible  names  any  way,  especially  such  awful 
jaw-breakers  as  that."  "  Why  how  you  talk,"  says 
Miss  Hodge,  for  my  part,  I  think  boys  names  always 
ought  to  be  double.  I  told  his  pa  I  wanted  to  give 
him  a  name  that  would  sour-d  -^^U  in  CongTess  one  o' 
these  days,  and  I  think  '  Orlando  P.  Hodge'  will." 
* ''The  land  alive !"  Siiys  Miss  Birsxeyj  s'posf^  ;"ou 
think  that  Henry  Clay 'd  be  a  much  greater  man  if 
his  name  w-as  Henry  ?,  Clay.  And  George  Washing- 
con,  tew,  no  doubt  he 'd  a  made  a  great  deal  more 
noise  in  the  world  if  his  name  had  a  ben  George  P. 
Washington.  What  a  pity 't  wa'n't--  -but  ycu  needent 
be  calculatin'  on  seein'  your  boy  a  member  c'  Congrens 
— his  name  '11  be  the  death  of  him  afore  he  comes  to 
maturity.  Did  you  ever  consider  that  'twas  Oi  P. 
H?"  Gracious!"  says  Miss  Hodge,  "  it  never str-'-^.k 
me  afore."  *'  Miss  Birsley,"  says  I,  "  it 's  time  fcr 
to  go."  "  So 't is,"  says  she.  ''Well,  ladies,  we  shaJl 
expect  to  see  you  at  the  meetin'  next  Wensday ,  biit, 
Miss  Hodge,  don't  you  bring  O.  P.  H.,  for  I  shan't 
have  time  to  stuff  him." 
Well,  from  there,  we  went  over  to  Professor  Stub* 


CONTEMPLATED  SEWING  SOCIETY.  289 

bleses  to  present  the  case  to  Miss  Stubbles  and  Jeru- 
3117.  Miss  Stubbles  is  quite  a  clever  woman,  and  a 
good  member  o'  society  as  fur  as  she  dares  to  be ;  but 
she 's  dretfullj  under  the  Professor's  thumb,  and  he 's 
a  wonderful  curus  man ;  he  *s  got  some  o'  the  oddest 
notions  in  his  head  that  ever  you  heerd  of— thinks 
that  property  ought  to  be  equilly  divided — calls  all 
rich  men  oppressors,  and  all  the  laborin'  class  abused 
and  deprived  o'  their  rights — holds  that  men  and  wim- 
min  ought  to  be  eddicated  jest  alike.  He 's  always  a" 
whalin'  away  about  the  dignity  o'  labor — ^has.  jest  ben 
deliverin'  a  course  o'  lecters  on  the  subjict,  and  he  calls 
all  men  that  don't  take  hold  and  dew  kitchen  work, 
domestic  tyrants ;  but  he  has  such  a  blind,  twistical 
way  o'  talkin',  that  a  body  can't  tell  what  he  means 
half  the  time — husband  says  he  don't  know  himself 
what  he 's  a  drivin'  at.  When  we  got  there,  Miss 
Stubbles  was  in  the  side  yard  a  splittin'  wood ;  she 
come  round  and  went  in  with  us.  They  hadent  no 
f  re  only  in  the  kitchen,  so  she  took  us  in  there.  The 
professor  was  a  churnin' — I  thought  I  should  go  off 
when  I  see  him.  He 's  a  great,  tall,  lank,  ongainly 
man,  and  there  he  stood  with  a  check  apron  on,  a 
churnin'  away  like  fury — he  did  look  like  old  Time. 
Their  overgrown  gawkey  son,  Nathan,  was  a  scttin' 
the  tea-table.  There 's  somethin'  wonderful  quizzical 
about  the  boy's  looks.    His  clus  is  a  great  deal  tew 

small  for  him,  and  he  looks  as  if  he  was  jest  a  gvvrine 

13 


290  WII>OW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


to  bust  out  of  "em  xike  a  chicken  out  o'  the  shell.  H* 
looked  wonderful  sober  a  settin'  the  table ;  but  they 
say  he 's  up  to  all  sorts  o'  tricks  away  from  home. 
We  inquired  for  Jerushy,  and  they  said  she 'd  gone 
to  milk.  Well,  we  told  our  bizness,  and  axed  Miss 
Stubbles  if  she 'd  jine  the  society  ?  She  looked  at  the 
Professor  to  see  how  he  took  it  afore  she  answered  ua 
— so  I  says,  says  I,  "What  do  you  think  o'  the  plan, 
Professor  Stubbles?"  The  Professor  giv  three  or  four 
awful  hams  to  clear  out  his  throat,  and  then  says  he, 
"  Did  I  believe  that  an  organization  of  this  descrip- 
tion would  be  a  labor -promotin'  association,  I  would 
give  it  my  heart- willing  approval."  *'No  doabt  it 
will  be  so,"  says  Miss Birsle}^  "Ladies,"  says  he,  " it 
is  high  time  that  the  dignity  of  labor  was  appreciated 
world-wide."  (We  see  he  was  in  for  a  speech,  so  we 
let  him  go  on.)  "  It 's  high  time  that  the  purse-proud 
and  vice-bloated  aristocracy  o'  the  land  vas  compelled 
to  toil  like  the  hard-handed  sons  and  daughters  of 
honest  poverty it 's  high  time,  that  the  artificial  ar- 
rangements of  society  was  done  away,  and  this  sin- 
distracted,  folly-bewildered,  hag-ridden  world  was 
governed  by  such  laws  as  the  Great  Heart  of  the  uni- 
verse originally  intended.  Ladies,  the  earth-mission 
of  mundcuie  souls  is  twofold ;  first,  to  discharge  with 
self-interest-sacrificing  zeal  our  dutj^  toward  down -trod- 
den humanity ;  second,  to  perform  with  soul-earnest, 
wife-assistiiig,  daughter-helpiog,  labor-loving  fidelity, 


Here  the  churn-dasher  came  down  with  such  a  veugeauce,  that  the  cream  spirted  up 
and  spattered  all  round. — Page  291. 


CONTEMPLATED   SEWING   SOCIETY  291 

such  domestic  services  as  shall  be  to  be  performed  at 
home ;  and  I  pronounce  that  soul  who  refuses  to  ac- 
knowledge the  dignity  of  household  labor,  a  pride-be- 
sotted, contempt-deserving,  heaven-provoking  churl." 
Here  the  churn-dasher  come  down  with  such  a  ven- 
geance, that  the  cream  spirted  up  and  spattered  all 
,  round,  and  some  on 't  went  onto  Miss  Birsley's  shawh 
*'The  land  alive!"  says  she,  "that  was  dignified,  any 
how."  Miss  Stubbles  jumped  up  to  clean  it  off.  "  Set 
still,  Miss  Stubbles,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "it's  the  Pro- 
fessor's bizness  to  repair  the  mischief.  Come,  Profes- 
sor, git  a  wet  cloth  and  wipe  off  my  shawl  afore  the 
grease  soaks  in."  The  Professor  looked  mad  and 
dident  stir.  "  Well,"  says  she,  "  accordin'  to  what 
yuu  jest  advanced,  you  must  own  yerself  to  be  a  pride- 
besotted  wretch.  Now,  Professor,  I  should  like  to 
know  if  it  would  n't  be  ruther  more  dignified  for  you 
to  go  out  and  split  wood,  than 't  is  to  make  yer  wife 
do  it  while  you  stay  in  the  kitchen  and  churn? 
77'ould  n't  it  be  quite  as  dignified  to  send  that  great 
able-lodied  boy  to  the  pastur'  to  milk,  as  'tis  to  make 
Jerushy  go  ?  It  kind  o'  seems  to  me  as  if  labor  wa'n't 
dignified  only  when  it 's  done  by  the  right  persons, 
and  in  the  right  time  and  place.  It  seems  to  me  aa 
if  it 's  the  best  way  for  every  body  to  dew  ther  duty 
in  the  station  where  Providence  has  placed  'em— • 
mabby  it 's  an  artificial  arrangement^  but  it  strikes  me 
a.s  ruther  a  good  one."    Tlie  Professor  looked  quite 


292  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

beat,  and  begun  to  ham  and  clear  bis  throaty  and  I  see 
be  was  a  preparin'  to  let  off  anotber  speecb,  so  I  says 
■\o  Miss  Birsley,  "  Come,  it 's  time  we  was  a  gwine." 
So  we  riz  to  come  away,  and  Miss  Birsley  says  sbe, 
"Well,  Professor  Stubbles,  I  s'poseyou^ll  be  offended 
if  I  don't  invite  you  and  Natban  to  come  to  tbe  Sewin' 
Society  and  belp  us,  but  as  my  idees  respectin*  tbe 
dignity  o'  labor  differ  from  yourn,  I  tbink  I 'd  a  leetie 
rutber  bave  Miss  Stubbles  and  Jerusby  come."  Tbe 
Professor  looked  real  wratby,  but  dident  say  notbing, 
and  we  left  bim  a  cburnin'  away  for  dear  life. 

Well,  tbe  next  day  we  went  to  tbe  Parkers,  and  tbe 
Billinses,  and  tbe  Stillman's,  and  tbe  Pettibone's,  and 
all  round ;  but 't  would  take  tew  long  to  go  ovei  witb 
tbe  bull  genealogy  of  all  tbe  calls  we  made.  Enougn 
to  say,  we  found  most  every  body  agreeable  to  tbe 
plan ;  and  wben  tbey  wa'n't  in  favor  on 't.  Miss  Birs- 
ley argyd  'em  into 't — so  sbe  sent  a  notice  to  ParsoL 
Tuttle,  and  yesterday  be  giv  it  out  in  meetin',  request- 
in'  all  tbe  ladies  o'  tbe  congregation  to  meet  next 
Wensday  afternoon  at  tbe  bouse  of  Squire  Birsley, 
for  tbe  purpose  of  organizin'  a  Sewin'  Society  for  be^ 
nevolent  objicts. 


XXV. 

•  Vetoing  S0ti.etg. 

T  WISH  to  gracious  jou  could  attend  one  of  our 
Sewin'  Society  meetin's.  You  never  see  nothin' 
to  beat  'em,  I  '11  be  bound  for 't.  We 've  Lad  tew  now. 
At  the  first  one,  at  Squire  Birsley's,  ther  was  twenty- 
five  present.  Miss  Birsley  had  got  some  shirts  cut 
out  o'  Cappen  Smalley's  cloth,  and  as  fast  as  they 
come  in  she  sot  'em  to  work — at  least  she  gin  'em 
some  work,  but  ther  was  so  much  talkin'  to  dew  ther 
was  precious  little  sewin'  done.  Ther  tongues  went  a 
good  deal  faster  'n  ther  fingers  did,  and  the  worst  on 
was,  they  was  all  a  runnin'  at  once.  Ther  was  an 
everlastin'  sight  o'  talkin',  but  it  did  seem  as  if  they 
wouldent  never  come  to  no  decision  in  creation. 
'T  wa'n't  expected  we  should  dew  much  at  the  first 
meetin'  more  'n  to  elect  the  managers,  and  make  up 
our  minds  how  often  we  should  meet — and  I  begun 
to  think  we  shouldent  dew  even  that  much,  there  was 
such  o'  sight  o'  discussin'  and  disputin'  about  every 
thing.    Some  was  for  meetin'  once  a  week,  and  some 


294 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  I^APERS, 


thought  't  was  altogether  too  often.  Some  was  for 
stajin'  to  tea,  and  some  was  opposed  to 't.  Some 
thought 't  would  be  a  good  plan  to  stay  and  work 
evenin's,  and  some  was  of  opinion 't  would  n't  pay, 
bein'  as  we 'd  have  to  burn  so  many  candles  and  lamps. 
Ther  wa'n't  nothing  said  about  what  object  we 'd  work 
for  at  the  first  meetin' — thought  we 'd  leave  that  till 
next  time. 

Well,  we  talked  and  talked  and  talked,  and  the  up- 
shot on 't  was,  Miss  Birsley  was  appinted  president — 
Miss  Ben  Stillman,  Miss  Dr.  Lippincott  and  Miss  Dea- 
con Fustick,  managers— ^^oYlj  Mariar  Stillman  secreta- 
ry^ and  Liddy  Ann  Buiil,  treasurer.  Moreover,  we 
agreed  to  meet  once  a  fortnight,  at  tew  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  stay  to  tea  and  work  till  dark.  "When  we 'd 
got  through  with  our  bisness,  we  had  tea — quite  a 
plain  tea.  Miss  Birsley  don't  approve  o'  makin' 
much  fuss  for  Sewin'  Society — because  if  ye  dew, 
ther  '11  be  some  that  '11  feel  as  if  they  couldent  afford 
to  have  it  to  their  houses.  She  dident  give  us  but 
one  kind  o'  cake,  but 't  was  light  and  good,  and  so 
was  the  bread ;  and  we  had  sliced  meat  and  cheese. 
Miss  Birsley  dident  say  nothing  about  it  but  she  hoped 
the  rest  would  foller  her  example.  I  made  up  my 
mind  I  would  any  how,  Avhether  the  rest  did  or  not. 

"Well  the  ladies  all  eat  as  if  they  liked  it,  and  they 
praised  up  every  thing  at  a  wonderful  rate.  They 
never  laid  tooth  to  such  bread  in  alf  their  lives ;  the 


rns  SEvri^s  society.  295 

baiisox  ^txS  «>uperli:Ae  ;  tho  coLi  meat  was  ddiciou»': ;  and 
for  tht  calre  it  ''vas  i  mystery  to  then?  how  Miss  Birs« 
ley  managed  to  always  have  such  first-rate  oake. 
Miss  Deacon  Peabodj  declared  she 'd  eat  such  a  hearty 
supper  she  was  afeard  she  shoald  be  sick.  After  tea, 
Miss  Jo  Gipson  invited  us  to  meet  at  their  house  next 
time,  and  then  we  went  hum-  "Wliile  we  was  in  the 
bed-room  a  puttin'  on  our  th.'n^s,  I  heerd  Miss  Pea- 
body  whisper  to  Miss  Stillman  jmi^  say,  "  Did  you  ever 
see  any  thing  to  beat  that  tea  in  your  born  days  ? 
No  presarves  at  all !"  "I  never  d.'cV'  says  Miss  Still- 
man.  If  I  can't  give  'em  a  bet*.«>T  tea  when  they 
meet  to  our  house,  I  '11  give  up." 

Well,  at  the  next  meetin'  ther  wa^^  about  the  same 
number  present,  and  we  talked  up  ^yhat  we 'd  dew 
with  the  money.  The  difficulty  was,  the  members 
couldent  agree  upon  nothin' — some  wanted  to  work 
for  this  objict,  and  some  wanted  to  work  for  that 
Miss  Skinner  and  some  o'  the  rest  thought  we 'd  ought 
to  sew  for  the  missionaries,  but  most  on  'em  opposed 
it,  'cause  they  wanted  io  see  v/nat  become  o'  the  money. 
Miss  Stubbles  thought  'twould  be  a  good  plan  to  es- 
tablish a  school  for  the  colored  sect — I  s'pose  the  Pro- 
fessor put  her  up  to  \ — but  nobody  else  dident  seem 
to' be  in  favor  on 't ;  and  Sister  Bedott  (she  attended), 
she  said  she  never 'd  agree  to  that,  't  v/ould  be  money 
throw'd  away,  for  niggers  would  be  niggers,  dew  what 
ye  would  to  elevate  'em.    Miss  Fustick  (she  come  in 


296  ^IDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

and  sot  a  spell  with  lier  things  on — said  she  couldent 
stay  long,  jest  droj^ped  in  on  her  way  to  the  Matarnal 
Society  meetin'),  she  thought  we  couldent  dew  better'n 
to  give  the  avails  of  our  labor  to  the  "  Sons  o'  Tem- 
perance.'  "  Sons  o'  yer  granny,"  says  Liddy  Ann 
Biiill,  says  she  (you  know  she  and  Miss  Fustick 's  a 
qnarrelin'.)  "When  she  spoke  up  so,  Miss  Fustick 
looked  awful  mad,  and  got  up  to  go  :  when  she  reach- 
ed the  door,  she  turned  round  and  says  she,  Perhaps 
Miss  Buill  would  ruther  work  for  the  Old  Maids' 
Consolation  Society'  that  they  talk  o'  formin'.  Grood 
allernoon,  ladies !"  and  off  she  cut  afore  Liddy  Ann 
had  time  to  answer.  The  gals  all  tittered,  and  Liddy 
Ann  lookt  wonderful  womblescropt.  I  don't  know 
but  she 'd  a  cleared  out  if  Miss  Birsley  hadent  a 
smoothed  it  over  in  her  cunnin'  way ;  she  laughed, 
and  says  she,  What,  Miss  Buill,  you  gals  don't  mean 
to  help  the  old  maids,  I  hope  ?  I  say  let  'em  take 
care  o'  themselves."  Liddy  Ann  grinned  and  looked 
quite  satisfied. 

Well,  they  talked  and  talked  and  talked,  jest  as 
they  did  at  the  first  meetin',  to  no  more  purpose  neither 
only  to  git  more  ryled  up  than  they  did  then.  It 
seemed  as  if  every  one  had  got  a  partickler  pint  to 
carry  and  was  detarmined  the  rest  should  yield  to 't 
I  tried  a  number  o'  times  to  make  a  proposition  I 'd 
thought  on,  but  ther  was  so  many  that  talked  louder 
and  faster  'n  what  I  could,  that  I  couldent  for  the  life 


THE   SEWING  SOCIETY. 


297 


o  me  git  nobody  to  listen  tew  me.  At  last  I  went  to 
Miss  Birslej  and  told  her  m j  idee,  and  axed  her  what 
she  thouglit  on 't.  She  said  she  liked  the  notion: 
"Well,  then,  you  propose  it/'  says  I,  '^for  I  can't  git 
'em  to  listen  to  me  if  I  try  till  Doomsday."  So  she 
spoke  out,  and  says  she,  "Ladies  !"  but  ther  was  such 
a  racket  nobody  dident  hear  her.  So  she  tried  agin : 
"  Ladies,  I  say  !"  but  still  they  dident  pay  no  attention 
Then  she  took  the  tongs  and  knockt  on  the  stove  as 
loud  as  ever  she  could.  "  Order !"  says  she.  They 
stoppt  talkin'  then,  and  lookt  round  to  see  what  she 
wanted.  "  Ladies,"  says  she,  "  Miss  Magwii'e  has  pro- 
posed an  object  to  work  for  that  strikes  me  as  an  ex- 
cellent one.  She  thinks  we 'd  better  raise  enough  to 
repair  the  meeting-house,  and  for  my  part,  I  think  we 
couldent  dew  better :  the  meetin'-house  is  in  a  miseii.- 
ble  condition ;  the  plasterin's  a  comin'  off  in  ever  oO 
many  places,  and  the  pulpit 's  a  forlorn  old  thing 
away  up  in  the  air ;  it 's  enough  to  break  a  body's  Aeck 
to  look  at  the  minister,  and  shakes  like  an  old  egg- 
shell. Mr.  Tuttle  says  he 's  a'most  afeard  to  go  into 
it.  Don't  you  think 't  would  be  a  good  plan  to  tear 
it  down  and  build  another  ?  Now  don't  all  speak  ai; 
once.  We  never  shall  dew  nothing  in  creation  if  we 
don't  have  some  sort  o'  order.  Miss  Skinner,  \\hat  'g 
your  opinion  ?" 

Well,  Miss  Skinner  was  delighted  with  the  idee, 
and  so  was  the  Grimeses,  and  the  Fosters^  and  the 

13* 


298 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Peabodjs.  Miss  Peabody  said  the  Baptists  and  the 
Episcopals  was  all  a  pintin'  at  us  for  lettin'  our  house 
o'  worship  be  in  such  a  condition.  Miss  John  Brew- 
ster said  she 'd  lonsr  thouscht  our  meetin'-house  was  a 
disgrace  to  the  village ;  she 'd  no  doubt  but  what 
't  would  be  an  advantage  to  the  cause  o'  religion  to 
repair  it,  for  the  Widder  Pettibone  told  her  how 't 
if  we 'd  had  a  decent  meetin'-house  she  wouldent  a 
went  off  and  jined  the  Episcopals,  but  she  got  so 
disgusted  with  the  old  nasty  house  and  so  tired  a 
stretchin'  her  neck  to  see  the  minister,  that  she  could- 
ent  Stan'  it  no  longer. 

*'  The  dear  me  !"  says  Charity  Grimes,  ^'  I  want  to 
knew  if  she  gives  that  as  a  reason !  Why,  every  body 
knows  she  went  there  'cause  C  urn  el  Dykeman's  an 
Episcopal." 

"  Yes,"  says  Polly  Mariar  Stillman,  "  I  gues*  it 's 
ginerally  known  what  took  her  there." 

She 's  a  Vv^onderful  oneasy  critter,"  says  Miss  Pea- 
body ;  ''she 's  ben  a  Baptist  and  a  Presbyterian,  and 
now  she 's  an  Episcopal.  I  Avonder  what  she  '11  be 
next." 

"  Well,  it 's  cause  she 's  a  widder,"  says  Glory  Ann 
Billins.  I  never  know'd  a  widder  yet  but  what  was 
as  oneasy  as  a  fish  out  o'  water.  I  raly  believe  it 's 
nat'ral  tew  'em." 

Jest  so,"  says  Liddy  Ann  Buill ,  "  widders  will  be 
widdera" 


THE   SEWING  SOCIETY. 


299 


"  Not  if  they  can  help  it,"  says  I.  1  was  sorry  as 
soon  as  I  said  it,  Sister  Bedott  lookt  so  mad.  I  tell 
ye  she  gin  me  an  awful  blowin-up  when  we  got  hum 
—said  every  body  in  the  room  thought  I  meant  her, 
and  she  dident  mean  to  go  to  the  meetin'  no  more.  I 
don't  know  whether  she  will  or  not. 

Well,  they 'd  got  hold  o'  the  Widder  Pettibone,  and 
they  dident  let  her  drop  right  off :  if  her  ears  dident 
burn  that  afternoon,  I 'm  mistaken.  Some  on  'em  got 
so  engaged  talkin'  about  her  they  stopt  sewin'  intirely. 
Bymeby  Miss  Birsley  got  out  o'  patience,  and  knockt 
on  the  stove.  "  Order !"  says  she.  When  they  got 
still,  says  she — "  When  the  ladies  have  got  the  Wid- 
der Pettibone  sufficiently  done  'up,  I 'd  like  to  have 
'em  take  hold  and  dew  up  ther  shirts."  ''Law  me," 
says  old  Aunt  Betsy  Crocker,  "  they  ain't  a  dewin'  her 
up ;  they  're  a  pickin'  on  her  tew  pieces.'*  Aunt 
Betsy  ain't  no  great  talker,  but  when  she  does  speak 
she  always  says  some  thin'  to  the  pint.  She 's  a  real 
clever  old  soul,  good  to  every  body,  dumb  critters  and 
all.  She  was  disappinted  when  she  was  young,  so  she 
hain't  aever  got  married ;  lives  all  alone ;  nobody  in 
the  house  but  her  and  GrufP,  her  old  dog.  She  thinks 
the  "^orld  o'  Gruff.  I  went  in  to  see  her  one  evenin' 
last  winter.  Gruti  was  asleep  on  a  rug  behind  the 
stove,  and  ther  was  'a  great  pan  o'  vittals  settin'  by 
him.  I  thought 't  was  somethin'  she 'd  sot  there  to 
warm,  so  I  says,  says  I,  "  Ain't  you  afeared  Gruff '1] 


800  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

be  pokin'  his  nose  into  yer  meat  ?"  "  Law  me,"  says 
slie,  "  that 's  there  a  purpose  for  him.  I  always  set 
somethin'  by  him  when  he  goes  to  bed,  so  he  '11  find 
it  handy  if  he  happens  to  wake  up  hungry  in  the 
night."  "My  sakes,"  says  I,  "I  wouldent  take  all 
that  pains  for  a  dog."  *'Law  me  1"  says  she,  "Gruff 
don't  know  he 's  a  dog — he  thinks  he 's  folks.^^ 

"  Well,  ladies,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  if  it 's  a  possi- 
ble thing,  I 'd  like  to  have  it  decided  whether  we  shall 
repair  the  meetin'-house  or  not.  I  think  we 'd  better 
put  it  to  vote.  Them  that 's  in  favor  on 't  will  please 
to  signify  it  by  holdin'  up  their  right  hand."  Well, 
all  o'  the  members  held  up  their  right  hand  exceptin' 
Miss  Ben  Stillman  and  Polly  Mariar.  Miss  Still-^ 
man,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  I  see  that  you  and  Polly 
Mariar  don't  hold  up  yer  hands.  Don't  you  approve 
of  appropriatin'  the  money  for  that  purpose  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  as  I  disapprove  on 't,"  says  Miss 
Stillman,  "  but  I  should  think  we 'd  better  not  be  in 
a  hurry  about  makin'  up  our  minds  what  we  '11  dew 
with  the  money." 

"  What 's  the  use  o'  waitin'  ?"  says  Miss  Birsley. 
"  For  my  part,  I  think  we  should  go  ahead  with  more 
sperrit  if  we  had  an  object  fixed  on  to  work  for."  "  I 
think  so  tew,"  says  Miss  Stillman ;  but,  you  know, 
we 'd  ought  to  be  unanimous."  "  The:a  why  don't  you 
agree  with  us  ?"  says  Miss  Birsley;  "  that 's  the  way 
to  be  unanimous." 


THE   SEWING   SOCIETY.  SO."'. 


'^I  mean,"  says  Miss  Stillman,  says  she,  "  that  'd 
ought  to  wait  till  ther 's  a  full  meetin^  afore 
vote." 

"  The  land  alive !"  says  Miss  Birsley,  "  I  don't 
know  what  you  call  a  full  meetin'  if  this  ain't 
one." 

"  The  fact  is,"  says  Polly  Mariar,  stretchin'  her 
great  mouth  from  ear  to  ear  and  displayin'  all  her  big 
teeth — (Jeff  says  her  mouth  looks  like  an  open  sepul- 
cher  full  o'  dead  men's  bone) — "  the  fact  is,"  says  she, 
"mar  and  me 's  cf  opinion  that  we  hadent  ought  to 
vote  till  Miss  Samson  Savage  is  consulted." 

"  Miss  Samson  Savage  ain't  a  member  o'  the  Society," 
says  Miss  Birsley,  "  and  she  don't  go  to  meetin'  once 
in  six  months.  I  don't  know  what  we  should  want  to 
consult  her  for,  I 'm  sure." 

But  you  know,"  says  Miss  Stillman,  "  her  means 
is  such  that  she 's  able  to  contribbit  a  great  deal  to 
any  object  she  approves  of," 

"And  we'd  ought  to  be  careful  about  offendin' 
her,"  says  Polly  Mariar,  "  for,  you  know,  she  with- 
draw'd  herself  from  the  Baptists  because  their  Sewin' 
Society  dident  dew  as  she  wanted  to  have  'em." 

"  Did  the  Baptists  break  down  after  it?"  says  Miss 
Birsley.  Jest  then  the  door  opened,  and  in  marched 
Miss  Samson  Savage.  But  afore  I  go  on,  I'd  ought 
to  tell  you  something  about  her.  She 's  on.o  o'  the 
hiq  hugs  here — that  is,  she 's  got  more  money  than 


302  J  r  O  W   B  E  D  O  T  1  TAPERS. 

a'  most  any  body  else  in  town.  She  was  a  tailorefes 
vlien  she  was  a  gal,  and  they  say  she  used  to  make  a 
dretful  sight  o'  mischief  among  the  folks  where  she 
sewed.  But  that  was  when  she  lived  in  Varmount. 
When  Mr.  Savage  married  her,  he  was  one  o'  these 
ere  specilators.  Wonderful  fellers  to  make  money, 
them  Yarmounters,  Ilusband  says  they  come  over  the 
Green  Mountains  with  a  spellin'-book  in  one  hand  and 
a  halter  in  t'  other,  and  if  they  can't  git  a  school  ^.o 
teach,  they  can  steal  a  boss.  When  they  first  come 
to  our  place,  he  was  a  follerin'  the  tin-peddlin'  bisness; 
he  used  to  go  rumblin'  round  in  his  cart  from  house 
to  house,  and  the  rich  folks  ruther  turned  up  their 
noses  at  him,  or  he  consated  they  did,  and  it  made 
him  awful  wrathy  ;  so  he  detarmined  he 'd  be  richer  'n 
any  on  'em,  and  pay  'em  off  in  their  own  coin.  Old 
Smith  says  he 's  heerd  him  time  and  agin  make  his 
boast  that  he 'd  ride  over  all  their  heads  some  day — 
dident  seem  to  have  no  higher  eend  in  view  than  to 
be  the  richest  man  in  Scrabble  Hill.  He  sot  his  heart 
and  soul  and  body  on 't,  and  knowin'  how  to  turn 
every  cent  to  the  best  advantage,  and  bein'  wonderful 
sharp  at  a  bargain,  he  succeeded ;  every  thing  he  took 
hold  of  prospered,  and  without  actilly  bein'  what  yon 
could  call  dishonest,  afore  many  years  every  body 
allowed  he  was  the  richest  man  in  the  place.  So  he 
built  a  great  big  stun  house  and  furnished  it  wonder- 
ful gi*and;  his  wife  wouldent  have  a  bit  o'  furnitewer 


THE   SEWING  SOCIETY. 


808 


made  here — nothin'  would  dew  Lut  she  must  send 
away  to  Pliiladelphy  for 't.  And  sucli  furnitewer  was 
never  seen  in  tLe  town  afore !  Sacli  elegant  sofys  and 
cheers  and  curtins,  and  ever  so  many  curus  consarns 
that  I  don't  knov/  the  name  of,  and  I  guess  she  don't 
neither.  So  she  sot  up  for  a  lady.  She  was  always  a 
coarse,  boisterous,  high-tempered  critter,  and  when 
her  husband  grow'd  rich,  she  grow'd  pompous  and 
overbearin'.  She  made  up  her  mind  she 'd  rule  the 
roast,  no  matter  what  it  cost — she 'd  be  the  first  in 
Scrabble  Hill.  She  know'd  she  wa'n't  a  lady  by  natur 
lor  by  eddication,  but  she  thought  mabb}?"  other  folks 
vould  be  fools  enough  to  think  she  was  if  she  made 
X  great  parade.  So  she  begun  by  dressin'  more,  and 
givin'  bigger  parties  than  any  body  else.  Of  course, 
them  that  thinks  money 's  the  main  thing  (and  ther 's 
plenty  such  here  and  every  where),  is  ready  to  flatter 
her  and  make  a  fuss  over  her,  and  approve  of  all  her 
dewin's.  If  ther 's  any  body  that  wonH  knuckle  tew 
her,  I  tell  ye  they  have  to  take  it  about  east.  She 
abuses  'em  to  their  faces  and  slanders  'em  to  their 
backs.  Such  conduct  wouldent  be  put  up  with  in 
a  poor  woman  ;  but  them  that  would  be  for  drummin' 
me  out  o'  town  if  I  should  act  so,  is  ready  to  uphold 
Miss  Samson  Stivage,  and  call  it  independence  and 
franhness  in  her.  She 's  got  so  she  prides  herself  on 
it.  She  saj's  she  ain't  afeard  to  tell  folks  what  she 
thiuk  of  'em — if  she  don't  liko  any  body,  they  hnoio 


304 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


it  purty  soon.  Husband  says'  slie  wouldent  tliink  it 
no  liarm  to  set  her  neighbor's  house  a  fire  if  she  done, 
it  in  the  day-time.  She  shG\73  her  independence  in 
another  way  sometimes,  by  I'iggin'  out  in  old  duds 
that  would  disgrace  a  washerwoman,  and  trainin'  round 
town,  makin'  calls  and  so  forth,  sometimes  in  an  old 
wagin  and  sometimes  afoot.  It  tickles  her  wonder- 
fully to  hear  folks  whisper  as  she  goes  along — ''Jest 
see  Miss  Savage!  that'll  dew  for  her^  but  'twoaldent 
do  for  every  body." 

"When  she  goes  out  in  company,  she  'nopolizes  the 
hull  o'  the  conversation.  She 's  detarmined  that  every 
body  in  the  room  shall  have  the  benefit  of  all  she  has 
to  say.  So  she  talks  up  so  awful  loud  that  she 
drownds  every  body  else's  voice,  and  they  have  to 
listen  tew  her  whether  or  no.  I  was  to  a  party  a  spell 
ago  where  she  was,  and  from  the  minnit  she  come  in 
— (thank  fortin'  she  never  comes  arly — always  keeps 
the  tea  a  waitin'  for  her) — I  say,  from  the  minnit  she 
come  till  it  broke  up,  she  talked  without  ceesation.  It 
did  seem  to  me  as  -if  I  should  go  distracted.  In  the 
course  o'  the  evenin',  somebody  axed  Pardon  Petti- 
bone's  wife  (she  't  was  Katy  Carey)  to  play  on  the 
pianner  and  sing :  she 's  a  beautiful  player,  and  I 'm 
very  fond  o'  hearin'  her.  When  she  sot  down  to  the 
music,  thinks  me,  Miss  Savage  will  hold  her  tongue 
now,  I 'm  sure.  But  I  was  mistaken.  She  wa'n't  a 
gwine  to  be  put  down  by  a  pianner,  not  she,  Sc*  she 


THE  SEWING   SOCIETY.  305 

jest  pitcTied  lier  voice  a  peg  higlier  and  went  on  with 
her  stuff — all  about  her  hired  help — what  Bets,  the 
cook,  done ;  how  Suke,  the  chambermaid,  managed, 
and  how  Kab,  the  washerwoman,  carried  sail.  I 
coTildent  take  no  sense  o'  the  music  at  all.  Miss  Still- 
man  and  Polly  Mariar,  and  a  few  more,  draw'd  up 
round  her  and  swallered  all  she  said,  but  some  o'  the 
young  folks  that  wanted  to  hear  the  music,  lookt  as 
if  they  wished  Miss  Samson  Savage  w^as  furder. 

But  it 's  plain  to  be  seen  with,  all  her  pretensions 
she  feels  oneasy  and  oncomfortable  the  hull  time. 
I  Ve  noticed  that  yer  codfish  gentility  always  dew.  She 
knows  she  ain't  the  ginniwine  article^  and  so  she  tries 
to  make  up  for 't  in  brass  and  bluster.  If  any  thing 
goes  on  without  her  bein'  head  man,  she  always  tries 
to  put  it  down.  She  was  gone  a  journey  when  the 
Sewin'  Society  was  started,  aijd  I  s'pose  she  was  awful 
mad  to  think  we  darst  to  git  up  such  a  thing  without 
consultin'  her.  Miss  Birsley  called  on  her  when  she 
got  hum,  and  axed  her  to  jine.  But  she  said  she 
wouldent — she  despised  Sewin'  Societies,  dident  want 
nothin'  to  dew  with  'em.  Miss  Birsley  dident  tell  no- 
body what  she  said  but  me ;  she  know'd  't  would 
make  some  o'  the  wimmin  mad  and  scare  the  rest — 
but  we  both  know'd 't  wouldent  be  long  afore  she 'd 
be  pokin'  her  nose  in  among  us. 

Well,  as  I  said  afore,  she  came  a  marchin  into  the 
room  w^here  we  all  sot.  She 's  a  great,  tall,  raw 'boned 


306 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


woman,  and  sLe  steps  off  like  a  trainer.  She  had  on 
a  dirty  pink  sun-bunnit,  and  an  old  ragged  blue  calicer 
open-gownd  (what  Jeff  calls  a  slielaly)  over  her  dress. 
She  dident  so  much  as  say  "  How-de-dew"  to  nobody, 
but  strammed  right  across  the  room  and  sot  down ; 
then  she  huv  her  old  sun-bunnit  onto  the  floor,  and 
draw'd  a  long  breath,  and  says  she — "  Well,  I  vow 
I 'm  tired — ben  round  a  shoppin',  and  shoppin'  's  no 
small  bisness  with  me.  I  don't  go  into  a  shop  and 
Stan'  an  hour,  and  make  the  clerks  haul  down  all  ther 
goods,  and  then  buy  tew-cenis'  worthy  as  some  folks 
dew" — here  she  lookt  round  at  Miss  Grimes  and 
Charity — "  when  /  trade,  I  trade  to  some  amount, 
and  no  mistake.  I  was  ruther  tired  afore  I  left  hum 
— had  company  to  dinner — dident  think  o'  comin' 
here  when  I  come  out — "  Caroline  Gipson  thought 
she  was  a  gwine  to  apologize  for  her  dress,  so  she  says 
says  she,  "Oh,  no  apologies  necessary — 'twas  jest  as 
well  to  come  in  as  you  was."  "  What !"  says  she,  "  I 
hope  ye  don't  think  I'd  a  dressed  up  if  I  had  a  know'd 
I  was  a  comin'  here? — not  I.  I  don't  believe  in  rig- 
gin'  up  to  come  to  a  sewin'  meetin',  as  some  folks 
dew" — (here  she  squinted  at  the  Skinners — they  had 
on  new  plaid  dresses) — "  but 't  ain't  every  body  that 
can  afford  to  wear  an  old  double  gownd.  I  says  to 
Poll,  my  waitin'-maid,  '  Poll,'  says  I,  '  go  to  the  lumber- 
room  and  git  my  sun-bunnit  and  my  blue  calicer 
double  gownd  ;  T 'm  a  gwipe  out.'    '  Massy  sakes  I' 


THE   SEWING  SOCIETY. 


307 


sajs  Poll  says  she,  '  does  Miss  Savage  know 't  the 
blue  double  gownd  has  got  one  sleeve  a'  most  ripped 
out,  and  the  linnin 's  all  tore  so 't  it  hangs  down  below 
the  outside  round  the  bottom?'  'Poll,'  says  I,  'if 
't  wa'n't  that  you  've  jest  come  out  o'  Pennsjlvany 
woods,  and  don't  know  nothin'  about  manners  yet, 
I 'd  discharge  ye  on  the  spot  for  darin'  to  question  me, 
or  make  any  remarks  about  what  I  order.  I  '11  for- 
give ye  this  time  on  account  o'  yer  ignorance,  but  if 
ever  you  dew  it  agin  you  '11  git  your  walkin'-ticket  on 
short  order,  as  sure  as  my  name 's  Miss  Samson 
Savage.  Now  start  yer  stumps,  and  fetch  them  things 
quick  meeter.'  So  she  fetch t  'em,  and  I  went  and 
done  my  shoppin'.  On  my  way  hum,  it  struck  me 
that  you  was  to  meet  here  to-day,  so  thinks  me,  I  '11 
jest  step  in  and  see  what  they  're  up  tew."  "  Will 
you  take  some  sewin'  ?"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "  Not  I," 
says  she,  *'  till  I  know  what  I 'm  a  sewin'  for.  What 
do  ye  calculate  to  dew  with  the  money  ye  raise?" 

"We  thought,"  says  Miss  Birsley,  ''that  is,  the 
majority  of  us  thought 't  would  be  a  good  idee  to  am 
enough  to  repair  the  meetin'-house  and  build  a  new 
pulpit."  "  Murder!"  says  Miss  Savage ;  "  well,  I  vow 
if  that  wouldent  be  a  icorthy  object."  "  So  you  don't 
approve  on't,  hey?"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "Approve 
on't?"  says  she;  "not  I." 

"  No  more  don't  me  and  Polly  Mariar,"  says  Miss 
Stillman.    Miss  Savage  went  on  :  "I 'd  look  purty 


808  WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPEliS. 

wouldcnt  T,  a  workin'  to  fix  up  that  meetiu'-house  for 
Tuttle  to  preach  in !"  So  you  don't  like  Mr.  Tuttle, 
hey?"  says  Miss  Birsley.  "Like  him?"  says  she; 
"  not  I.  He  don't  know  nothin' — can't  preach  no 
more  'n  that  stove-pipe^'' — (she  hates  Parson  Tuttle 
'cause  he  hain't  never  paid  no  more  attention  to  her 
than  he  has  to  the.  rest  o'  the  congregation) — "  he 's 
as  green  as  grass  and  as  flat  as  a  pancake."  "  That 's 
jest  what  mar  and  me  thinks,"  says  Polly  Mariar 
Still  man.  Miss  Savage  went  on :  "  He  don't  know 
B  from  a  broomstick,  nor  bran  when  the  bag 's  open." 
"  That 's  jest  what  I  think,"  says  Miss  Stillman.  "  I 
says  to  Mr.  Stillman  last  Sabbath,  as  we  was  a  comin' 
from  meetin',  '  Mr.  Stillman'  says  I" — But  what 't  was 
she  said  to  Mr.  Stillman,  dear  knows,  for  Miss  Savage 
dident  let  her  go  on.  "I  say,"  says  she,  "I'd  look 
beautiful  a  comin'  to  Sewin'  Society  and  wofkin'  the 
eends  o'  mj  fingers  olF  to  build  a  pulpit  for  Tuttle  to 
be  poked  up  in  Sabbath  after  Sabbath,  and  preach  off 
jest  what  he 's  a  mind  tew.  No — ye  don't  ketch  me 
a  takin'  a  stich  for  such  an  object.  I  despise  Tuttle, 
and  I  '11  tell  him  so  tew  his  face  when  I  git  a  chance. 
Ye  don't  ketch  me  a  slanderin'  folks  behind  ther 
backs  and  then  soft-soapin'  'em  to  their  faces,  as  some 
folks  dew" — (here  she  lookt  at  Miss  Stillman  and 
Polly  Mariar.)  "  And  where 's  his  wife,  I'd  like  to 
know?  Why  ain't  she  here  to  work  to-day?  A 
purty  piece  o'  bisness,  I  must  say,  for  you  all  to  be 


IHE  SEWING  SOOJErY. 


309 


here  a  diggin'  away  to  fix  up  Tattle's  meetin'-house. 
when  she''s  to  lium  a  playin'  lady,^''  "Miss  Tatt.j 
ain't  very  well,"  says  I.  "  That 's  a  likely  story^ ' 
says  Miss  Savage ;  and  from  that  she  went  on  and 
blazed  away  about  Miss  Tuttle  at  a  terrible  rate.  Miss 
Stillman  and  Polly  Mariar,  and  a  number  more  o'  the 
wimmin,  sot  tew  and  helped  her  whenever  they  could 
git  a  word  in  edgeways ;  and  such  a  haulin'  over  as 
Miss  Tuttle  and  the  parson  got,  I  never  heerd  afore 
in  all  the  days  o'  my  life. 

While  they  was  in  the  midst  on 't,  Miss  Gipson 
come  to  the  door  and  axed  us  to  walk  out  to  tea — 
she 'd  ben  out  all  the  afternoon  a  gittin'  it  reddy — so 
we  put  up  our  work  and  went  out.  We  don't  have 
the  tea  handed  round  at  our  meetin's  as  a  gineral 
thing ;  we  have  the  things  sot  on  a  long  table ;  the 
woman  o'  the  house  pours  tea  at  one  eend,  and  we  all 
Stan'  round  and  help  ourselves.  It 's  very  convenient, 
especially  where  they  don't  keep  no  help.  Well,  we 
nil  took  hold,  and  for  a  while  Parson  Tuttle  and  his 
wife  and  every  body  else  had  a  restin'  spell,  for  even 
Miss  Samson  Savage  had  other  use  for  her  tongue. 
She  believes  in  dewin'  one  thing  to  once.  When  she 
eats  she  eats — and  when  she  talks  she  talks. 

And  we  had  a  real  nice  tea,  I  tell  ye — ^biscuit  and 
butter,  and  crackers  and  cheese,  and  cold  meat  and 
pickles,  and  custard  and  whipt  cream,  and  three  kinds 
o'  presarves,  and  four  kinds  o'  cake,  and  vvliot  not! 


SIO  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAIERS. 

I  couldent  help  o'  tliinkin'  tliat  tlie  money  laid  out  on 
that  tea  would  a  went  a  good  way  toward  the  new 
pulpit. 

"What  delightful  biscuit,"  says  Miss  Grimes 
They  are  50,''  says  Miss  Skinner;  "but  Miss  Gip 
son  never  has  poor  biscuit."  "  0  shaw  I"  says  Miss 
Gipson,  "  you  ain't  in  arnest :  my  biscuits  is  miserable 
— not  nigh  so  good  as  common.  I  don't  think  the 
flour  's  first  rate."  "  Miss  Gipson,  how  dew  you 
make  crackers  ?"  says  Miss  Stillman  ;  "  I  never  tasted 
none  so  good."  "  Now  you  don't  mean  so,"  says  Miss 
Gipson.  "  I  can  make  good  crackers,  but  them very 
poor;  the  oven  wa'n't  jest  right  when  I  put 'em  in." 

I  must  have  another  piece  o'  this  cheese,  it  's-so  good,'' 
says  Miss  Lippincott.  "Where  did  you  git  it?' 
''"Well,  I  got  it  of  old  Daddy  Sharp:  he  ginerally 
makes  excellent  cheese,  but  I  tell  Mr.  Gipson  old 
Sharp's  failed  for  once — ^that 's  what  I  call  poor  cheese." 
"  Dew  taste  o'  this  plum  sass,  Miss  Peabody,"  say^ 
Miss  Brewster ;  "I  never  see  the  beat  on 't."  "I  u 
ruther  have  these  ]3eaches,"  saj^s  Miss  Peabody ; 
"they  're  derlicious.  It  is  a  mystery  to  me  how  Mi.®-) 
Gipson  always  has  such  luck  with  her  presarves. 
I  never  dew,  and  I  always  take  pound  for  pound  tew." 
"  This  apple-jel 's  the  clearest  I  ever  see,"  says  old  Miss 
Parker.  "  How  did  you  m.ake  it,  Miss  Gipson?  Did- 
ent  you  dew  it  in  the  sun  ?  I 'm  sure  it  don't  look  as 
if  it  ever  v/as  nigh  the  fire."    "  Kow  don't  speak  o' 


THE   SEWING  SOCIETY. 


811 


tliat  jel,"  sajs  Miss  Gipson.  ''I  told  Carline  I  was 
ashamed  mj  jel  after  seein'  Miss  Parker's,  and  I  was 
a'most  sorrj  I 'd  made  any  presarves  since  I 'd  eat 
some  o'  Miss  Peabody's  and  Miss  Skinner's,  theirn  was 
?o  much,  nicer."  So  tliey  went  on.  The  whipt  cream 
and  custard  had  to  be  gone  over  :  Miss  Gipson  had  to 
tell  jest  how 't  was  made — what  flavorin'  she  used, 
and  all  that — ^though  she  declared  s-he  was  ashamed 
on 't.  The  cake  was  praised  np :  they  must  know 
how  much  butter  ther  was  in  this^  how  many  eggs  it 
took  for  iliai  and  so  forth.  Miss  Gipson,  of  course, 
run  it  down — she  could  make  good  cake,  but  somehow 
she  failed  that  time.  A  person  that  dident  know  how 
wimmin  always  go  on  at  such  a  place,  would  a  thought 
that  Miss  Gipson  had  tried  to  have  every  thing  the 
miserablest  she  possibly  could,  and  that  the  rest  on 
'em  had  never  had  any  thing  to  hum  but  what  waa 
miserabler  yet. 

Well,  every  thing  arthly  comes  to  an  eend,  and  so 
did  that  tea  after  a  spell,  and  purty  soon  after  we  went 
hum.  Miss  Stillman  invited  us  to  meet  to  their  house 
next  time.  She  urged  Miss  Sampson  Savage  to  come, 
and  I  don't  doubt  but  what  she  will  if  she  thinks 
ther 's  any  chance  for  kickin'  up  a  muss.  I  was  in  to 
Miss  Birsley's  the  next  da}^,  and  she  and  I  talked 
over.  She  says  we  hain't  accomplished  much  yit,  fa. 
some  o'  the  work's  done  so  miserable  't  v/on't 
never  sell  in  creation  without  it 's  picked  out  and 


812  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

done  over  better.  The  rest  is  put  together  wrong, 
and  has  got  to  be  took  to  pieces  whether  or  no.  Foi 
my  part,  I  feel  enj  most  discouraged  about  the  Sewin' 
Society, 


*  XXVI. 

J  '  VE  ben  a  journey  sence  I  saw  yon,  Nancy,  away 
down  to  Slabtown,  to  see  a  cousin  o'  husband's 
that  lives  tbere.  She 't  was  Eunice  Ludlow,  she  mar- 
ried a  Bentley,  carpenter  and  jiner  by  trade.  They 
moved  from  Coon's  Holler  to  Slabtown  about  five 
year  ago,  and  there  he  follered  the  lumberin'  business, 
and  done  very  well  at  it.  I  hadent  seen  'em  since 
they  went  away,  and  bein'  as  she  urged  me  very  hard, 
and  made  me  promise  I 'd  come  out  there  the  last  time 
she  was  to  our  house,  I  thought  I 'd  ought  to  go.  I 
used  to  set  a  great  deal  by  Eunice  when  she  was  a  gal. 
I  thought  there  never  was  a  happier  couple  than  she 
and  Bentley  was  when  they  lived  at  the  Holler.  He 
had  a  good  trade  and  was  industrious,  and  so  was  she, 
and  they  got  along  first  rate.  And  then  they  had  a 
couple  o'  the  nicest  behaved  children  that  I  ever  see. 
Lucy,  the  eldest,  was  about  eight  year  old  when  they 
moved  away,  and  Henry  was  five  or  six. 

But  I  found  things  considerably  altered  since  they 

come  to  Slabtown.   It 's  quite  a  big  place,  as  big  agin 
*  14 


814  .  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


as  Scrabble  Hill,  and  growin'  bigger  all  tbe  time. 
Eunice  bad  got  ber  idees  raised  a  good  deal,  and  bad 
some  wonderful  curus  notions  about  gmtilify.  Tbe 
bouse  was  fumisbed  migbtj  grand,  and  sl^  dident  de^v* 
ber  own  work  as  sbe  used  to  ac  tbe  Holler,  but  kept 
a  great  slatterin',  imperdent  bired  gal,  tbat  done  jest 
as  sbe  was  a  mind  tew  about  every  tbing. 

Lucy,  tew,  sbe  was  a  growin'  up  ginteel.  Sbe 's 
got  to  be  tbe  proudest  little  tbing  tbat  ever  I  see, 
peart  and  bold,  and  rigbt  up  in  every  body's  face  and 
eyes,  stickin'  in  ber  gab  all  tbe  time,  and  nippin'  round 
witb  a  couple  of  awful  long  pigtails  witb  bows  on  tbe 
eends,  a  danglin'  down  ber  back. 

Henry,  be 's  about  as  bateful  a  young  one  as  ever 
went  unflogged.  I  used  to  dread  bis  comin'  bum  from 
scbool;  for  be  went  yellin'  and  bollerin'  round  tbe 
bouse,  kickin'  and  spittin',  and  sassin'  every  body  tbat 
spoke  to  bim.  I  actilly  beerd  bim  swear  a  number  o' 
times.  And  be 's  out  in  tbe  streets  late  o'  nigbts, 
playin'  and  figbtin'  witb  all  sorts  o'  boys.  I  talked  to 
bis  fatber  about  it,  told  bim  I  tbougbt  be 'd  ougbt  to 
keep  Henry  in  o'  nigbts,  and  be  more  particklar  about 
bis  'sociates.  But  be  baw-baw'd  rigbt  out  in  my  face ; 
"  Sbaw,  Aunt  Mag  wire,"  says  be,  "tbat 's  all  cant.  I 
believe  in  lettin'  boys  run  ;  it 's  tbe  only  way  to  make 
'em  independent."  "Sam  Bentley,"  says  I,  "you 
ain't  tbe  jnan  you  used  to  be.  Wben  you  lived  to 
tbe  Holler,  you  was  c[uite  partic'lar  about  yer  cbil- 


VISIT  TO   SLAB  TOWN. 


315 


dren,  and  about  3'erself  tew ;  for  I  remember  you 
used  to  tc  meetin'  quite  stiddy  with  Eunice,  and 
alwaj^s  had  prayers  in  yer  family  night  and  mornin'.'' 
.")on*t  never  mention  that  agin,"  says  he ;  "  I 'm 
asnamed  on 't  I  was  green  in  them  days ;  now  I 've 
got  more  inlarged  views.  The  fact  is.  Aunt  Magwire, 
SlabtowL:  •£  a  great  place.  If  I 'd  a  stayed  at  Coon's 
Holler,  ten  to  one,  I 'd  a  went  on  in  that  snivellin', 
cantin',  go-to-meetin'  way  all  my  life."  *'Like 
enough,*'  says  I ;  "  and  mabby  got  to  heaven  in  it  last. 
Slabtown  is  sl  great  place^  and  no  mistake."  Sam  did- 
ent  say  no  more. 

Eunice  dident  seem  to  be  very  proud  o'  me,  I'm 
such  a  plain,  homemade  body.  She  never  introduced 
me  to  none  of  her  ginteel  acquaintances  when  they 
called ;  so,  as  I  dident  have  nothing  to  say,  I  used  to 
have  the  benefit  of  all  the  conversation,  and  sartinly 
'twas  quite  entertain'.  They  ginerally  begun  with 
the  fashions.  Kext,  they  took  up  the  subject  o'  hired 
gals,  and  when  they 'd  wore  that  out,  the  neighbor- 
hood in  gineral  had  to  undergo  a  haulin'  over.  'T  was 
pretty  much  the  same  as  it  is  in  Scrabble  Hill,  only  I 
think  the  Slabtown  folks  make  ruther  more  fuss  over 
each  other  to  their  faces,  than  what  they  dew  in  our 
place. 

One  afternoon,  there  was  a  youngish  married  wo- 
man by  the  name  o'  Miss  Teeters  called.  She  and 
Eunice  are  quite  intimit;  though,  after  all,  Eunice 


316 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAFXRS. 


don't  seem  to  think  much  of  her,  but  she  considers 
her  wonderful  ginteel.  Her  gintilitj  seemed  to  con 
sist  in  her  wearin'  more  colors  than  I  ever  see  on  to 
once  afore  in  all  my  born  days.  She  had  on  a  yaller 
bunnit,  with  a  great  pink  artificial  on  it ;  a  red  shawl, 
and  a  green  silk  frock,  and  blue  ribbin  round  her 
neck,  and  I  forget  what  all;  but  t'was  enough  to 
make  a  body's  eyes  ache  to  look  at  her. 

After  they 'd  gone  over  with  the  fashions,  says  Miss 
Teeters,  says  she :  ''I  see  you  keep  Marthy  yet;  how 
do  you  git  along  with  her  ?" 

But  afore  Eunice  had  time  to  answer  her,  the  door 
was  banged  open,  and  the  very  Miss  Hawkins  they 'd 
ben  talkin'  about  come  bowsin  into  the  the  room  with- 
out ever  ringin'  the  bell.  She  was  clear  out  o'  breath ; 
for  she 's  quite  a  fleshy  woman.  Her  face  was  as  red 
as  a  blaze,  and  her  green  satin  sack  was  all  one-sided. 
She  looked  as  if  she 'd  fixed  in  a  wonderful  hurry  and 
run  all  the  way.  "  What 's  to  pay  ?"  says  Miss  Tee- 
ters and  Eunice  in  a  breath.  She  couldent  speak  for 
a  minnit  or  so,  she  was  so  exhausted.  I  got  up  and 
giv  her  the  rockin'-cheer  I  was  a  sittin'  in,  and  sho 
squoze  herself  into  it,  and  says  she — 
Have  you  heerd  the  news?" 

"  What  news?"  says  Miss  Teeters  and  Miss  Bentley, 
open  in'  their  mouths  and  eyes  and  stretchin'  their 
necks.    "  What  news  ? — dew  tell,  for  pity's  sake !" 
0  dear  me,  suz,"  says  she,  "  I  never  was  so  dum« 


VISIT  TO  SLABTOWN. 


817 


foundered  in  all  my  life.  Consin  Jeemes  was  in  to 
our  house  not  half  an  hour  ago,  and  read  it  to  Sary 
Ann  and  me  I  thought  I  'd  run  in  and  see  if  Miss 
reeters  had  heerd  on 't  They  said  she  was  over  to 
Ml.  Bentley's,  so  I  come  right  on  here." 

''Well,  what  is  it,  in  the  name  o^  wonder?"  says 
"^Liss  Teeters,  says  she. 

"  0  dear  me,"  says  Miss  Hawkins,  a  blowin'  herself 
with  her  handkercher  as  hard  as  ever  she  could.  "  O 
dear  me,  ther 's  the  awfulest  piocc  that  you  ever  see, 
come  out  in  the  *  Ladies  Book,'  and  it 's  all  about  our 
I:ewin'  Society,  takin'  us  ofF  to  an  ioty,  and  tellin'  all 
how  we  go  on ;  and^  of  course,  't  was  writ  in  this  vil- 
lage." 

''You  don't?"  says  Miss  Teeters,  say^  ehe. 

"  It 's  a  fact^"  says  Miss  Hawkins.    "  And  what  'a 
worse  yet,  our  minister's  wife  writ  it." 
How  you  talk !"  says  Misa  Teeters. 
Well,  I  shouldent  wonder,"  says  Eunice,  says  she, 
'  foi  I  Ve  heerd  that  your  minister's  wife  'wiites  for  inO 
papers.    But,  pray,  what  does  it  say  ?" 

'  Oh,"  says  Miss  Hawkins,  "  as  true  as  I 'm  a  live 
woman,  it 's  got  every  one  of  our  members  in,  and 
fihows  us  all  up  shamefully,  only  jest  me  and  Sary 
Ajin.  I  can't  ree  as  ther 's  any  body  in  it  that  re- 
aembles  us  a  mito.  But  you  're  drawed  out,  Misa 
Teeters ;  and  Cappen  Sapley,  he 's  down  large  as  liis  ; 
an  ^  the  Bomana  are  in  for 't ;  and  so 's  Bill  Swetao*  *.i 


318 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


wife,  and  Samanthy  Cooper,  and  Tom  Baily 's  wife^ 
and  Miss  Ben  Curtis  ;  and  there 's  a  Miss  Stillman  and 
her  daughter,  that 's  meant  for  the  Longs.  They  're 
all  fictitious  names,  to  be  sure,  but  it  s  easy  enough 
to  tell  who 's  who.  But  the  squire's  wife  ketches  it 
the  worst  of  all.  I  tell  ye,  it  takes  her  off  tc  fits. 
Nobody  can  mistake  it.  Jeemes  wouldent  let  us  keep 
it,  or  I 'd  a  fetcht  it  over.  He  war  gwine  to  take  it  in 
to  the  Bomanses.  I  hope  3'ou'll  get  hold  on't;  for 
of  all  the  abominable  messes  that  ever  I  see,  it 's  the 
crownin'  pint." 

"  Well,  I  never  heerd  the  beat  on 't,"  says  Miss  Tec 
ters. 

"  Kor  I  neither,*'  says  Eunice.  I  should  think  i\ 
minister's  wife  might  be  in  better  business.  WeV.., 
I 'm  glad  I  don't  belong  to  your  Society.  I  ain't  took 
off;  that 's  sartin.  But  how  do  you  know  it  uctiliy 
means  your  Society  ?" 

"Oh,  that's  plain  enough,"  says  Miss  Hawkins, 
"  for  it  tells  things  that  was  positively  said  and  done 
at  some  o'  the  meetin's.  Jest  how  the  squire's  wife 
went  on  ;  calls  her  '  Miss  Samson  Savage.' "  (I  begun 
to  prick  up  my  ears.  Thinksme,  what  on  airth  does 
all  this  mean  ?) — "  But  the  mystery  to  me  is,  how  the 
minister's  wife  got  hold  on 't.  She  wa'n't  there. 
Somebody  that  luas  there  must  a  told  her.  I  wond*'-/ 
who 't  was  ?" 

Miss  Teeters  turned  ruther  red.    I  thought  she 


VISIT  T^O   SLABTOWN.  819 

looked  kind  c  guilty ;  and  says  she :  "  It 's  abominable 
— it  •'s  ridicilous !  I  '11  go  riglit  home  and  tell  my  hus- 
oand  how  the  minister's  -vyife 's  ben  writin'  about  me , 
and  I  shouldent  wonder  if  he  should  take  the  matter 
up — he  's  cowhided  a  number  of  individdiwals  for 
speakin'  disparagin'  o'  me.  But  has  the  squire's  wife 
heerd  on 't?" 

"No,"  says  Miss  Hawkins.  "I  stopt  there  as  I 
come  along,  but  she 'd  gone  out  o'  town.  TVon't  she 
be  mad,  though ;  she 's  sucb  a  fiery  critter  !" 

1  say,"  says  Miss  Teeters,  says  she,  it 's  high 
time  we  got  rid  o'  the  minister ;  he  ain't  the  man  for 
us.  A  ginteel  and  intellectible  congregation  like  our'n 
had  ought  to  have  a  man  o'  great  eloquential  powers. 
And  as  for  his  wife,  I  never  could  bear  her,  with  Ler 
old  stripid  dress  that  she  wears  every  Sunday,  rain  or 
shine.  I  don't  believe  she  was  ever  accustomed  to 
ginteel  society." 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  says  Miss  Hawkins.  "  T  took  a 
dislike  tew  her  when  they  first  come  here.  I  don't 
like  yer  mum  characters  that  never  say  nothin'  about 
nobody.  It  seems  she 's  ben  savin'  on 't  up  to  let  off 
in  the  newspapers.  Bethiar  Kobles  says  she  told  her 
she  thought  our  congregation  drest  tew  much ;  and  I 
shouldent  wonder  if  she  did,  for  she  '  stuck  to  that  old 
straw  bunnit  and  everlastin'  stripid  dress  all  winter, 
and  I  s'pose  it 's  to  set  an  example  o'  plainness  afore 
us,  jest  as  if  we 'd  foller  her  lead.    For  my  part,  T  thinlc 


820 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


she  might  better  spend  more  time  a  dressing  and  less 
a  writin*  for  the  newspapers.  And  they  say  he-  in- 
courages  her  in  it,  and  likes  to  have  her  write.  I  wish 
they  was  both  farder  off." 

I  wish  so  tew,"  says  Miss  Seeters ;  **  and  I  guess 
ther 's  a  good  many  that  wish  so.  She  ain't  popilar  at 
all  in  our  set.  She  never  runs  in  sociably,  as  Miss 
Van  Duzen  used  to.  They  say  she  goes  a  great  deal 
more  among  the  poor  folks,  than  she  does  among  the 
ginteel  part  o'  the  congregation.  And  that 's  a  sure 
sign,  /  tJiinh^  that  she 's  ben  more  accustomed  to  nii.ng- 
lin'  with  them  sort  o'  folks,  than  with  such  as  we  be." 

Well,  they  blazed  away  in  that  style  for  as  much  as 
uu  hour.  I  can't  remember  half  they  said ;  and  Eunice 
she  told  'em  that  if  she  was  they,  she  wouldent  put  up 
with  it;  she'd  make  a  fuss  about  it,  and  have  the 
minister  sent  off. 

As  soon  as  they 'd  gone,  Eunice  burst  out  a  laughin', 
and  says  she :  "  Well,  if  that  ain't  the  best  piece  o' 
news  I  've  heerd  this  many  a  day.  I  've  always  heerd 
that  that  Sewin'  Society  was  a  reg'lar  slander-mill, 
where  the  principal  busines  is  to  brew  mischief  against 
the  minister ;  and  I 'm  glad  they 've  got  showed  up  at 
last.  The  minister 's  a  good  man,  and  a  smart  man 
tew ;  but  the  biggest  part  o'  the  congregation  is  such  a 
set  of  ignoramuses,  that  they  don't  know  a  smart  man 
from  a  fool.  They  always  make  a  great  fuss  over 
their  minister  when  he  first  comes ;  but  if  he  don't 


VISIT  TC   SLAB  TOWN. 


321 


preach  smootli  things  tew  'em  all  the  time,  thej  soon 
contrive  to  starve  him  out  or  quarrel  him  off.  "When 
they  gin  this  one  a  call,  they  agreed  to  give  him  five 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  pay  it  quarterly.  And  it 
is  a  solemn  fact,  that  half  on 't  hain't  ben  paid  yet 
Betsey  Hall,  a  girl  that  used  to  wash  for  'em  some- 
times, told  me  so.  She  said  she 'd  often  listened  to 
the  door,  and  heerd  the  minister  and  his  wife  a  talkin' 
over  their  troubles ;  and  she  says  that  ther  ain't  more  'n 
half  a  dozen  in  the  congregation  that  pay  their  dues 
reglarly ;  and  if 't  wa'n't  for  what  the  minister's  wife 
gits  for  writin'  for  the  newspapers,  they  wouldent  be 
able  to  pay  their  house-rent  and  keep  out  o'  debt,  no 
way.  She  said  she  overheerd  him  say  to  his  wife  one 
day :  *  The  quarter's  rent  '11  be  due  next  Saturday,  and 
I  hain't  a  cent  to  pay  it.'  '  Keep  up  your  courage  my 
dear,'  says  she,  *  perhaps  I  shall  have  somethin*  from 
Philadelphy  before  then.'  And  Betsey  said  she  guess- 
ed it  come,  for  she  was  kno^vin'  to  the  rent  bein'  paid 
the  next  Saturday.  I  couldent  help  laughin'  in  my 
sleeve  when  Miss  Teeters  was  a  tellin'  how  much  bet- 
ter Parson  Yan  Duzen's  wife  was  liked  than  this  one. 
They  abused  her  like  a  pickpocket  when  she  was  here 
and  was  always  a  runnin'  her  down.  She  couldent 
dew  nothin'  to  please  'em." 

*'  Eunice,"  said  I,  why  dident  you  talk  so  when  they 
was  in,  and  tell  'em  plainly  to  their  faces  what  you 
tliought." 

14* 


822  WIDOW   BEDCTT  PAPERS. 

0  law,"  says  slie,  ''I  dident  want  to  get  mixed  up 
in  their  quarrels."  And  then  she  throw'd  on  hei 
things  and  run  off  to  some  o'  the  neighbors  to  tell  the 
news  and  talk  over  it.  She  was  gone  till  tea  time. 
But  she  dident  have  the  satisfaction  o'  tellin'  the  story 
first,  for  every  body  v/here  she  went  had  heerd  it  al- 
ready. News  flies  like  wildfire  in  Slabtown.  She 
dident  git  hold  o'  the  piece  though ;  nobody  haden'^ 
seen  it,  but  they 'd  all  heerd  -about  it.  It 's  wonderful 
how  «?oon 't  was  in  every  body's  mouth.  When  Sam 
comes  hum  he  was  full  on 't — said 't  was  all  over  town 
— nothin'  else  was  talked  about  from  one  eend  o'  the 
village  to  t'other.  Eunice  was  very  anxious  to  read 
it ;  and  Sam  went  to  the  bookstore  to  git  it,  but  they'd 
sold  every  copy  they  had,  and  ther  was  a  great  call 
for  more.  Ther  was  a  wonderful  excitement  about  it. 
Sam  said  the  Californy  fever  was  nothing  tew  it. 
Californy  and  every  thing  else  seemed  to  be  entirely 
forgot  for  a  spell.  The  wimmin  laid  aside  all  other 
business,  and  gadded  round  from  house  to  house  talk- 
in  about  the  Sewin'  Society.  And  the  men,  tew, 
they  're  as  fond  o'  tatlin'  and  gossipin'  in  Slabtown  aa 
the  wimmin.  They  met  together  in  shops  and  stores, 
and  bar  rooms  and  oyster-cellars,  and  talked  it  over. 
Wherever  you 'd  see  a  mess  o'  men  standin'  you  might 
know  they  was  discussin'  the  Sewin'  Society. 

In  Slabtown,  every  body  knows  jest  what  every 
body  else  says  and  does.    It  seemed  raly  wonderful  to 


VISIT  TO  SLABTOWN. 


823 


me  how  all  that  was  said  was  trumpeted  round.  Pri 
vate  conversations  was  blazed  all  over  town,  that  must 
a  ben  carried  by  the  birds  o'  the  air,  or  else  ther  must 
a  ben  a  good  many  ears  occurpied  at  a  good  many 
key -holes.  I  was  wonderfully  struck  with  this  faculty 
in  the  Slabtown  folks.  They  're  a  commnnity  remar- 
kable for  their  inquirin^  minds.  If 't  was  applied  to 
any  nseful  purpose,  ther 's  no  calculatin'  how  much 
they  might  accomphsh.  If  the  government  should 
ever  conclude  to  make  researches  into  the  manners 
and  customs  o'  the  antipodes  under  ground,  I  should 
advise  'em  to  send  to  Slabtown  for  an  explorin'  com- 
pany. I  '11  warrant  they 'd  find  out  all  how  and  about 
it  for  'em.  They 'd  report  all  that 's  a  dewin'  there, 
and  a  good  deal  more.  So 't  was  about  that  article 
that  Avas  laid  to  the  ministers  wife's  door.  Every  body 
know'd  what  every  body  else  said  and  thought  about 
it.  The  inquiriiil  minds  was  all  at  work.  Every 
hour  in  the  day  ther  was  somebody  a  runnin'  into 
Bentley's  with  some  new  story — something  the  Haw- 
kinses or  the  Longs,  or  the  Teeeters,  or  the  squire's 
folks  had  said  or  done. 

"  And  ' Miss  Samson  Savage,'  "says  Miss  Teeters — 
"  did  you  ever  see  such  a  perfect  picter  as  that  is  o' 
the  squire's  wife  ? — how  exactly  it  goes  on  like  her, 
don't  it  ?  Any  body  that  ever  see  her  would  know  it 
m  a  minute." 

But,"  says  Teeters,  "  I  don't  see  how  the  minister's 


824 


WIDOW   BELOIT  PAPERS. 


wife  found  out  liow  she  talked.  Some  your  mem- 
bers must  a  peached." 

Miss  Teeters  blushed,  and  says  she :  "  Oh,  dear  me, 
I 'm  dreadfully  afeard  she  '11  think 't  was  me.  If  she 
should,  she 'd  hate  me  like  pisen,  and  never  invite  mo 
to  any  more  o'  her  parties.  I  wouldent  git  her  ill-will 
for  all  the  world.  What  shall  I  dew  ?  I  must  ran 
right  over  there  'fore  any  body  else  see  her,  and  make 
?.t  all  straight." 

"  That 's  right,"  said  Teeters.  "  I  wouldent  be  struck 
^  ut  o'  her  good  books  for  no  money.  We  '11  show 
her  that  we  don't  uphold  the  minister's  wife  in  such 
conduct.  But  I  must  dew  something  tew.  If  she 
was  only  a  man  I  could  give  her  a  cowhidin'  or  at 
least  threaten  to ;  but  bein*  she 's  a  woman  I  don't 
know  what  to  dew." 

"  I  '11  tell  ye.  Teeters,  what  ye  can  dew,"  said  his 
wife.  "  You  can  circulate  a  petition  to  get  the  minis- 
ter dismissed." 

*  ■  That 's  the  checker,"  said  Teeters,  with  a  terrible 
oath. 

So  Miss  Teeters  flung  on  her  things  and  started  off 
lor  the  squire's.  And  Teeters  sot  down  to  draw  up 
his  petition.  When  she  got  to  the  squire's,  Miss  Tec* 
ters  huv  herself  down  on  the  sofy  and  fainted  away ; 
and  the  squire's  wife  run  for  the  cologne  bottle. 
When  she  began  to  come  tew,  says  the  squire's  wife, 
says  she — 


VISIT  TO  SLABTOWN. 


325 


For  the  land's  sake,  cliild,  what 's  tlie  matter  with 
je?" 

Miss  Teeters  groaned,  and  says  she :  Have  you 
seen  the  Lady's  Book?" 

"  What  lady's  book  ?"  says  the  squire's  wife,  saya 
she. 

"  Why  the  Lady's  Book  that 's  printed  in  Philadel 
phy  once  a  month." 

No,  I  hain't  seen  it,"  says  she.      What  on 't  ?" 

*'  Well,  I 'm  50  glad  you  hain't,"  says  Miss  Teeters ; 
"  and  I  do  hope  you  won't.  Don't  you  look  at  it  if  you 
do  see  it.  I  beg  of  you  not  to  look  at  it  for  all  the 
world.  Promise  me  you  won't  open  it  if  you  do  see 
it." 

"Well,  I. should  like  to  know,"  says  the  squire's 
wife,  "  what 's  the  reason  I  must  n't  look  at  that  par- 
tic'lar  book.    For  gracious  sake,  out  with  it !" 

"  Oh,"  says  Miss  Teeters,  ther 's  the  awfullest  piece 
in  it  that  evei'  you  sot  eyes  on  ;  and  every  body  says 
the  minister's  wife  writ  it.  It 's  all  about  our  Sewin 
Society — ^takes  us  off  most  shamefully — ^but  you  es 
pecially — shows  you  up  abominably — calls  you  '  Miss 
Samson  Savage.'  It  ain*t  a  bit  like  you,  to  be  su,re ; 
but  it 's  perfectly  horrid.  Do  promise  me  not  to  read 
it ;  for  it  '11  hurt  your  fee^ins  dreadfully.  It  did  mine. 
To  think  that  a  person  I  set  so  much  by  as  I  do 
by  you,  should  be  so  abused  I  Mr.  Teeters  is  perfect- 
ly outrageous  al>out  it ;  he  says  it  is  n't  to  be  borna 


826 


WIDOW    BEDOTT   PAP  EES. 


He 's  intendin'  to  start  a  petition  to  have  the  minister 
Bent  olf.  You  know  we  've  long  ben  try  in'  to  git  rid 
of  him,  and  this  '11  be  a  good  opportunity" — (Miss 
Teeters  had  always  pretended  to  the  minister  that  she 
was  one  of  his  best  friends,  and  was  always  a  runnin 
tew  him  with  every  thing  the  squire's  wife  and  Miss 
Hawkins  said  against  him.  Of  course,  he  nor  his 
wife  hadent  no  confidence  in  her.  They  understood 
human  nater  well  enough  to  know  she 'd  talk  against 
them  behind  their  backs.) 

'T  was  nat'ral  enough,  after  all  this  parade,  that  the 
squire's  wife  should  be  in  a  terrible  pucker  to  see  the 
Lady's  Book.  So.,  after  makin'  a  wonderful  to  do 
about  it,  and  pretendin'  she  was  awful  unwillin',  Miss 
Teeters  fetcht  her  the  book.  At  first,  the  squire's 
wife  declared  that  Miss  Savage  wa'n't  meant  fcr  her, 
but  all  her  particular  friendo  insisted  upon  it  that 't  was. 
So  at  last  she  had  to  give  up,  and,  of  course,  she  was 
awful  mad  about  it,  and  stormed  away  at  a  terrible 
rate. 

Miss  Hawkins,  she  kept  the  ball  a  rollin' ;  devoted 
her  hull  time  to  runnin'  round  the  neighborhood  and 
blazin'  away  about  it.  She  Was  what  folks  call ' '  toady" 
to  the  squire's  wife,  and  every  body  said  that  the 
"  Miss  Stillman  in  the  piece,  that  was  makin'  such  a 
muss,  meant  her,  and  she  tho't  so  tew.  But  she  tho't 
that  if  she  could  make  folks  believe 't  was  intended 
for  Miss  Long,  she  could  accomplish  tew  ends :  she 'd 


VISIT    TO  SLABTOWN. 


827 


git  rid  o'  liavin'  the  names  o  Miss  Stillman  and  Polly 
Mariar'  tucked  onto  her  and  her  daughter^  and,  what  was 
purty  important,  turn  the  Longs  against  the  minister 
and  his  wife.  Now  the  Longs  was  very  stiddy,  go-to- 
meetin'  sort  o'  folks,  and  had  always  been  very  friend- 
ly to  the  minister's  family.  So  Miss  Hawkins  went 
puffin'  and  blowin,  round  town,  makin'  a  terrible  fuss 
about  the  "piece,"  and  dwellin'  partic'larly  on  the  awful 
shame  it  was  to  take  off  the  Longs  so.  One  day  she  went 
into  the  squire's,  and  the  squire's  wife  says  to  her, 
says  she :  "  Well^  how  do  you  feel  about  bein'  hit  off 
by  Aunt  Magwire  ?  You  ketch  it  about  as  bad  as  I 
dew." 

"  0  shaw,"  says  Miss  Hawkins,  "  I  ain't  hit  off  at  all. 
"What  makes  you  think  I  be  ?" 

Now,  Hawky,"says  the  squire's  wife,  "  it 's  all  non- 
sense for  you  to  try  to  make  me  think  that  ain't  meant 
for  you  and  Sary  Ann."    "  I  know 't  is." 

"IWell,"  says  Miss  Hawkins,  says  she,  ''between 
you  and  me,  the  fact  is,  whether 't  was  meant  for  me 
or  not,  one  thing 's  clear,  if  we  could  make  the  Longs 
believe 't  was  intended  for  them,  we  should  be  pretty 
sure  o'  gittin'  rid  o'  the  minister.  For,  of  course,  Miss 
3jong  and  Helen  would  feel  dretfuUy  hurt  about 
bein'  took  off  so  by  the  minister's  wife,  and  Mr.  Long 
he 'd  think  jest  as  they  did.  And  if  we  can  once  git 
the  Longs  set  against  the  minister's  folks,  they  '11  have 
to  quit  in  short  order." 


328  WIDOW   13ED0TT  PAPERS 


"Weil,  that  is  an  idee,"  says  the  squire's  wiia. 
"  Hawkj,  you 's  more  cunniu'  than  I  be.  If  '  Daddy- 
long-legs'  " — (that 's  what  she  calls  Mr.  Long  behind 
his  back) — once  gits  his  dander  up  it  '11  be  all  d£^y 
Tith  the  parson ;  for  some  how  or  other,  he 's  contriv- 
ed to  git  considerable  influence  in  the  parish.  It  must 
be  because  he 's  such  a  stiddy  old  poke,  for  he  hain't 
no  more  mind  of  his  own  than  that  pair  o'  tongs.  1 
can  turn  him  round  with  my  little  finger.  I  guess  I  'D 
go  down  and  give  'em  a  stirrin'  up."  So  up  she  start 
ed  and  off  she  traipsed  to  Mr.  Long's.  She  march<3d 
into  the  parlor,  where  Miss  Long  and  Helen  was  a  s?t- 
tin',  and  makin'  a  low  curchy,  she  says,  says  che : 
"  Miss  Samson  Savage,  at  your  sarvice  ;  and  hcTT"  does 
Stillman  and  Polly  Mariar  dew  to  day  ?" 

"Well,  to  make  a  long  ^story  short,  the  Longs  was 
made  to  believe  that  the  minister's  wife  had  actilly 
ben  showin'  'em  up.  Of  course  they  was  outrageous 
about  it ;  and  Miss  Long  talked  harder  aginst  the  min- 
ister's wife  than  she 'd  ever  talked  aginst  any  body 
afore.  She  dident  go  tew,  her,  like  a  Christian  ought 
to,  and  ax  an  explanation,  but  she  contented  herself 
with  callin'  her  an  abominable  woman  and  a  shameful 
critter^  and  said  she  wa'n't  fit  to  be  a  minister's  wife, 
and  so  forth.  And  Mr.  Long  he  jined  in  with  the  op- 
position, and  wanted  the  minister  to  quit. 

And  Teeters,  he  got  up  his  petition,  and  went  blus* 
terin'  round  with  it,  threatenin'  to  cowhide  every  bodv 


V:SIT  TO  SLABTOWN. 


829 


that  dident  sign  it.  He  hadent  got  but  a  few  names 
to  it,  when  he  went  into  Sharp's  store  and  axed  Sharp 
to  sign  it.  Sharp's  a  straight-forrard  feller,  that  minds 
his  own  business.  He  took  the  petition  and  lookt  at 
it,  and  then  deliberately  opened  the  stove  door  and 
throw'd  it  in  ;  and  turnin'  to  Teeters,  says  he  :  "  Tee- 
ters, you  're  a  fool ;  go  hum  and  take  care  o'  yer  wife, 
and  lei  alone  meddlin'  with  what 's  none  o'  yer  busi- 

I  s'pose  you  think  Teeters  cowhided  him  on  the 
spot :  but  you  're  mistaken.  He  went  hum  and  took 
it  out  in  rippin'  and  swearin',  and  threatenin'  to  take 
the  law  o'  Sharp. 


XXYII. 


y^AW  me,  K ancj,  why 't  would  take  a  week  to  teil 
all  the  sayin's  and  de win's  that  took  place  in 
Slabtown  in  consequence  o'  tHat  article  in  the  lady's 
Book.  I  never  see  nor  heerd  o'  nothin'  equal  to 't, 
Such  a  tempest  in  a  tea-pot!  such  an  awful  uproai 
about  nothin' !  'T  was  wonderful — 't  was  amusin'  tew 
And  what  was  the  poor  minister's  wife  about  all  this 
time?  Why  she  was  to  hum,  a  mindin'  her  own 
business  as  usual.  Miss  Teeters  was  heerd  to  say  to 
several  individdiwals,  that  she  guessed  that  old  stripid 
dress  and  straw  bunnit  wouldent  darst  to  show  them- 
selves in  church  no  more,  when  there  was  such  an 
excitement.  But  Sunday  came  and  there  was  the 
minister's  wife  in  her  seat,  lookin'  jest  as  if  nothin' 
had  happened  more  'n  or'nary.  The  members  o'  the 
Sewin'  Society  thought  't  was  very  audacious  in 
her. 

'T  was  cur'us  to  see  how  all  the  persons  that  was 
the  most  active  in  myi.in'  a  noise  and  keepin  up  the 
excitement,  ^«<^  ^^vu-ry  ^ne  on  'em  some  eend  o'  their 


VISIT  TO  SLABTOWN. 


831 


own  that  they  hoped  to  forrard  bj  makin'  a  hue  and 
cry.  There  was  the  Slaters,  thej  were  dretful  mad  at 
the  squire^s  wife,  because  she  hadent  invited  'em  to 
hei  last  party.  And  Mr.  Sweezer  had  told  'em  that 
the  squire's  wife  remarked  at  her  party,  that  she 
dident  invite  the  Slaters  because  she  meant  to  be  more 
select  in  her  parties  in  futur'.  Sweezer's  very  intimit 
with  the  squire's  folks — a  kind  o'  boot-licker  tew  'em 
— ^though  he 's  always  slanderin'  'em  to  their  backs. 
He 's  a  reg'lar  man-gossip.  Well,  the  Slaters  was 
wonderful  tickled  to  see  the  squire's  wife  git  such  a 
dressin^  cut^  as  tkey  called  it ;  so  they  went  round  ex- 
ultin'  OYGT  it. 

Then  ther  was  a  number  that  was  wonderful  anxiouS 
to  git  themselves  into  notice,  no  matter  how.  And 
they  blazed  away  about  the  impropriety  o'  writiviJ  such 
articles.  They  disproved  on  'em  entirely.  But  them 
that  was  tryin'  to  git  into  the  squire's  wife's  good 
graces,  was  the  most  obstropelous  about  it.  They 
called  it  abominable — awful !  they  hoped  the  squire 
would  take  the  law  o'  the  minister's  wife,  and  so  forth. 
And  some  that  was  rejoiced  to  git  hold  o'  any  thing 
that  could  be  turned  against  the  minister,  went  sneak- 
in'  round  takin'  it  up  in  a  sly  way ;  they  was  very 
sorry  it  had  happened,  very ;  but  it  was  all  up  with 
the  minister  now  ;  he  might  as  well  pack  up  his  traps 
and  budge  at  once ;  for  he  couldent  be  supported  in 
Slabtown  no  longer,  public  sentiment  was  so  agaiiifst 


332 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


him.  Then,  tew,  ther  was  a  careful  set,  such  as  there 
is  every  where,  that  wanted  to  be  "  right  side  \ip 
and  not  bein'  able  to  determine  for  sartin  which  would 
turn  out  to  be  the  popilar  party,  all  they  done,  when 
the  *'Sewin'  Society"  was  mentioned,  was  to  shake 
their  heads  and  look  knowin*.  But  the  tew-sided 
party  was  the  most  numerous.  They  circulated  round 
from  the  minister's  friends  to  his  enemies,  and  pretend- 
ed to  belong  to  jest  the  side  they  happened  to  be  with.  ^ 
To  the  minister's  friends  they  said,  "  that  was  a  first- 
rate  article  in  the  Lady's  Book ;  't  was  capital — 't  was 
true  to  nater — it  took  off  them  that  deserved  it  richly ; 
and  they  hoped  that  the  author 'd  write  more,  and  give 
Sgm  another  dig."  When  they  got  among  the  op- 
posite party,  they  said  " 't  was  a  slanderous  thing — 
'twas  shameful — 'twa'n't  to  be  put  up  with;"  and 
then  they  carried  back  and  forth  all  they  heerd  on 
both  sides,  and  made  a  sight  o'  mischief.  Mr.  Sweezer 
was  one  o'  this  kind.  He  had  about  as  much  as  he 
could  attend  to  for  a  spell,  runnin'  from  one  side 
t'  other  carryin'  the  news. 

But  the  most  active  o'  the  two  siders  was  Bethiar 
Nobles,  an  old  gal  that  gits  her  livin'  principallj^  by 
visitin'.  She 's  acquainted  with  every  thing  that  goes 
on  in  the  village ;  knows  every  body's  business,  j  ^st 
what  young  folks  are  ingaged,  and  who 's  broke  off 
their  ingagements ;  who 's  ben  disappointed,  and 
who 's  distracted  after  who.    She  knows  jest  whia^ 


VISIT  TO  SLABTOWN. 


833 


c^:)uples  lives  like  cats  and  dogs  together,  what 
oues  is  livin'  beyond  their  means,  and  who's  over 
head  and  ears  in  debt,  and  how  every  lady  in  town 
carries  on  her  kitchenary  consams,  how  scrimpin'  they 
live,  and  all  that.  She  always  has  some  great  excitin* 
piece  o'  scandal  on  her  hands  that  sarves  for  visitin* 
capital;  and  when  one  wears  out  she  trumps  up 
another.  She 's  an  awful  disagreeable  old  critter,  but 
gtill  ther 's  plenty  o'  folks  that 's  willin'  to  incourage 
her,  for  the  sake  o*  hearin'  her  talk.  Well,  when  the 
Sewin^  Society  muss  come  up,  she  was  on  her  high 
heels.  It  gin  her  plenty  o'  business  for  a  spell.  She 
visited  on  the  strength  on 't  for  a  month  at  least.  As 
sure  as  the  day  come  round,  off  started  Bethiar  Nobles 
on  her  scandal-peddlin*  expedition.  "Wherever  she 
went,  the  first  question  she  axed  was  :  "  Have  you 
seen  thai  article  in  the  Lady's  Book?"  and  the  next: 
"What  do  you  think  on't?"  and  what  ever  they 
thought  she  thought  tew,  and  jawed  away  accordin'ly, 
and  spent  the  day  a  tellin'  what  she  heerd  on  both 
sides. 

One  day  she  went  to  the  minister's  and  spent  the 
afternoon.  After  she 'd  hauled  out  her  knittin'  work, 
and  spread  her  T^iite  handkerchief  across  her  lap  for 
show  (she 's  an  awful  snuff-taker,  and  carries  an  old 
rec  silk  one  in  her  pocket  for  use) — after  she 'd  hauled 
out  her  knittin'  work,  says  she  "Have  you  seen  that 
piece  that 's  come  out  in  the  Lady's  Book?" 


834  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  I  Ve  seen  •  a  number  of  pieces  in  the  Lady 'g 
Bbok,"  stLjs  the  minister's  wife,  "  which  one  do  you 
refer  to?" 

"  "Why,  that  one  about  the  Sev/in'  Society  th.a* 
appeared  in  the  Jinuwary  number,*'  says  Bethiar,  says 
she. 

"  I  havent  read  that  number  at  all,"  says  the 
minister's  wife.  "  Mine  was  borrowed  before  I  *d  hz6 
time  to  open  it." 

''Well, /'i;e  seen  it,"  says  Bethiar;  **and  I  think 
it 's  complete.  I  hope  the  person  that  writ  (hat  'li  keep 
on  writin',  and  give  it  to  'em  again.  I  never  see 
nothin'  to  beat  that  description  of  the  squire's  wife — 
it 's  her  to  a  T.  They  say  she  feels  it  tew.  I 'm  glad 
she  does ;  and  I  hope  it  '11  make  her  draw  in  her  horns 
and  remember  her  origin,  and  behave  a  little  more 
decent.  And  Miss  Teeter;:,  I  was  glad  to  see  hei 
ketch  it — ^ridicilous  critter,  neglectin'  her  children 
and  flirtin'  round  with  the  young  men  all  the  time. 
And  the  Longs  ;  that 's  the  best  o'  the  hull ;  I  tell  ye, 
it  done  me  good  to  see  them  cut  up.  I  hope  it  '11  lam 
'em  to  think  for  themselves,  and  not  pin  their  faith  to 
big  folkses  coat-tails.  They  never  have  no  opinion  o' 
their  own.  I  dew  despise  them  Lon^."  The  ministei's 
wife  interrupted  her,  and  says  she — 

"  Dident  you  spend  the  day  at  Mr.  Long's  yester- 
day?" 

"  Yes,'*  says  Berthiar,  says  she. 


VISIT   TO  SLABTOV/N". 


335 


"  Seems  to  me  it 's  strange  you  should  visit  people 
you  despise  so,"  sajs  the  minister's  wife. 

Betliiar  was  rather  nonplushed  for  a  minute,  and 
dident  seem  to  kno^  what  to  say.  She  haaled  out 
her  snuff-box  and  took  a  monstrous  pinch,  and  draw'd 
round  her  nose  one  side  and  snuffed  it  up,  and  then 
draw'd  it  round  t'  other  side  and  snuffed  it  up  agin ; 
and  when  she 'd  fixed  out  what  to  say,  she  begun : — 

Yes,  I  did  spend  the  day  there,  and  it 's  the  last 
day  I  '11  spend  there  for  one  while,  I  guess ;  for  they 
had  so  much  to  say  aginst  you  and  yer  husband  that  I 
vras  perfectly  disgusted.  They  're  awful  mad  about  that 
piece,  and  say  you  writ  it.  I  told  'em,  whether  you 
did  or  not,  /  thought 't  was  a  first-rate  thing."  So 
she  run  on,  tellin'  ever  so  much  stuff  that  the  Longs 
had  said  against  the  minister  and  his  wife,  and  all 
how  she  tried  to  stop  'em,  and  felt  so  distresst  to  hear 
'em.  The  minister's  wife  kept  on  sewin',  and  dident 
make  no  further  remark.  Bethiar  stayed  all  the  after- 
noon and  evening  and  talked  and  snuffed,  and  bored 
'em  through  and  through ;  and  then  went  off  declarin* 
she 'd  had  a  delightful  visit. 

The  next  day  she  went  to  the  squire's  — Mi?3  Teeters 
and  Miss  Hawkins  was  there.  They  was  all  glad  to 
see  Bethiar  come  in,  for  they  know'd  she  'i  bring  the 
news.  She  told  'em  she 'd  ben  to  the  minister's  ;  and 
they  was  wonderful  cur'us  to  know  how  the  minister's 
vife  felt,  and  all  she  said  and  done.    "  Was  sho  a 


336 


WIDOVyT   BEDCTT  PAPERS. 


writin'?"  says  Miss  Teeters.    "No,"  says  EietHar, 

not  when  I  went  in ;  she 'd  jest  tucked  it  away  when 
she  heerd  the  bell  ring.  I  know'd  by  the  looks  o*' 
things  that  she 'd  ben  a  writin'.  She  don't  keep  no 
help  now ;  and  I  stayed  to  tea  a  purpose  to  see  what 
sort  o'  work  she  made  gittin'  vittals.  When  she  went 
out  to  git  tea  J  offered  to  go  and  help  her;  for  I  did 
want  to  take  a  peep  into  the  butt'ry  and  see  what  con- 
dition 'twas  in — they  say  these  writin'  wimmin  is 
such  sluttish  critters  about  their  houses.  But  she  was 
tew  cunnin'  to  let  me  see  behind  the  curtin'.  Sh"*,  ?.aid 
she  dident  need  no  assistance." 

"Why  dident  you  insist  upon 't  and  go  ahead, 
whether  or  no?'*  says  the  squire's  wife.  "  That 's  the 
way  I 'd  a  done." 

"  Oh,"  says  Bethiar,  "  she 's  so  kind  o'  stiff,  I 
darsent ;  but  I  took  a  good  look  round  when  I  went 
into  the  bed-room  to  take  off  my  things.  I  wish  to 
gracious  you  could  see  the  quilt  that 's  on  her  bed ! 
It 's  the  greatest  curiosity  in  the  quiltin'  line  that  ever 
I  sot  eyes  on — old  fashioned  herrin'  bone,  the  l:ne?< 
as  much  as  tew  inches  apart — without  stretchin',  full 
tew  inches  apart !" 

It 's  cur'us,  by  the  way,  what  a  wonderful  time  the 
Slabtown  wimmin  make  about  their  quilts.  Ther 
seems  to  be  a  continniwal  strife  there  as  to  who  shall 
git  the  most  sti  tchin'  on  a  ^uilt.  They  crowd  and 
Ftuff  'em  as  full  o'  work  as  they  poj^sibly  can.  Folks 


VISIT  TO  SLABTOWISr. 


337 


tLat able  to  bu j  han'some  bed-kivers,  never  think 
o'  sncli  a  thing.  Bat  they  '11  spend  ever  so  many 
weeks  a  diggin'  away  at  a  home-made  bed-quilt,  and 
git  the  neighbors  together  time  and  agin,  and  stitch, 
stitch,  stitch,  stitch,  as  if  their  lives  depended  on 't, 
and  not  feel  satisfied  till  every  spot  as  big  as  a  six- 
pence is  kivered  with  stitches.  Eunice  had  a  quiltin' 
while  I  was  there.  My  eyes  wa'n't  good  enough  to 
work  on  the  quilt,  and  Eunice  dident  seem  to  be  very 
sorry  ;  for  she  wa'n't  very  anxious  to  have  me  make 
my  appearance  among  her  genteel  friends.  So  I 
staid  up  in  my  own  room.  Ther  was  a  stove-pipe 
hole  in  the  floor  from  the  parlor  where  they  was 
quilting  and  I  could  hear  'em  talk.  Grammany,  what 
a  buzzin'  they  kept  up!  I  tell  ye,  every  body  that 
wa'n't  there  had  to  take  it,  and  no  mistake.  It  would 
have  to  be  a  pretty  skillful  arithmeticker  that  could 
calculate  how  many  characters  can  be  pulled  to  pieces 
while  one  quilt 's  a  puttin'  together.  But  I  was  tellin' 
about  Bethiar  Noble's  account  o'  her  visit  to  the 
parson's.    She  went  on  to  tell,  and  says  she — 

And  of  all  the  teas  that  ever  I  sot  down  tew,  if 
that  wa'n't  the  beat!"  (she  praised  up  every  thing  sky 
high  while  she  was  eatin'  on 't).  "  Baker's  bread  as 
dry  as  a  stick.  I  s'pose  she 's  tew  lazy  to  make  her 
own  bread,  or  else  she  has  so  much  writin'  to  dew  she 
can't  spend  time;  and  the  cake — dear  knows  how 

16 


888 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


long  it  had  ben  baked — and  plum-sass  as  soui  as 
vengeance." 

"Butwbat  did  slie  say  ?"  says  the  squire's  wife. 
"  'That 's  the  main  pint.  What  did  she  have  to  saj 
about  the^zece.^" 

"  She  kept  pretty  mum  about  that,  I  tell  ye,"  says 
Bethiar ;  "  for,  you  see,  I  pretended  I  dident  know 
she  writ  it,  so  I  went  on  and  told  my  opinion  pretty 
freely.  I  said  that  I  guessed  if  the  writer  on 't  thought 
they  was  a  gwine  to  injure  people  of  such  standin'  as 
the  squire's  wife  and  Miss  Teeters,  they 'd  find  them- 
selves mistaken.  She  look't  awful  mad,  but  never 
opened  her  head.  Then  I  spoke  o'  the  Longs,  w^hat 
fine  people  they  was,  and  said  I  spent  the  day  before 
with  'em.  When  I  said  that,  she  spoke  up,  and 
say  she :  *  Well,  /  wouldent  visit  such  despisabls 
people.'  " 

"She  talked  agamst  the  Longs,  hey?"  says  the 
squire's  wife.    "  Well,  they  ought  to  know  it." 

"  They  shall  know  it,"  says  Miss  Teeters. 

"  I  thought  I  should  tell  'em  on 't,"  says  Bethiar. 

"  Well,  they  must  know  it  to-day,  for  to-morrow 's 
^Sunday,"  says  Miss  Hawkins.  "  I  s'pose  you  calculate 
CO  spend  the  afternoon  here,  so  I  guess  I  '11  jest  run 
down  myself  and  give  'em  a  hint  on 't." 

Well,  I  kept  a  hearin'  more  anc  more  every  day, 
and  what  to  make  on't,  I  didv."»t  know.  'Twas  all 
''Miss  Samson  Savage,  and  I^iSi^  Stillman,  ard  Miss 


VISIT   TO    SLABTOWN.  8S9 

Fustick  and  Miss  Birslej."  Tliiaks  me,  how  on  arth 
has  all  this  about  our  Sev.'in/  Society  got  out  ?  and 
what  makfco  the  Slabto\v'n  folks  think  it  means  them  ? 
I  was  wonderful  puzzled,  out  thought  'twa'n't  best  to 
say  any  thing  about  it.  At  last,  cue  day,  Sam  got 
hold  of  a  Lady's  Bosk,  and  fetchtit  hum ;  ana  Eunice 
took  it  and  sot  down  to  read  the  wonderful  piece  out 
loud.  She  turned  along  till  she  come  to 't.  and  says 
she;  ''Here  'tis — 'Aunt  Mag  wire's  Account  of  the 
Sewin'  Society  at  Scrabble  Hill.' "  I  tell  you^  I 
jumped  as  if  I  was  shot :  "  Grammany."  says  I,  "  that 
means  me!"  Then  it  begun  to  crawl  through  my 
hair  that  the  name  o'  the  book  v*^as  "  Godey's  Lady's 
Book,"  and  says  I :  I  '11  bet  a  dollar  it 's  the  same 
Mr.  Godey  that  I  know,  and  he  *s  went  and  printed 
off  that  story  that  I  told  him  about  our  Sewin'  So- 
ciety." After  I  got  calmed  down  a  little,  Eunice  went 
on  and  read  it ;  and,  sure  enough,  there  't  was,  word 
for  word,  jest  as  I  told  it  to  Mr.  Godey.  I  told  'em 
eo. 

''Kow,  Sam,''  says  I,  "you  go  right  off  down  street, 
and  tell  every  body  that  that  are 's  a  ginniwine  de- 
scription of  our  Scrabble  Hill  Sewin'  Society,  and 
nothin'  else." 

"  I  shan't  dew  it,"  says  Sam.  They  wouldent  be- 
lieve a  word  on 't  if  I  should  ;  and,  besides,  I  like  to 
see  the  fun  go  on." 

"  I  say  so  tew,"  says  Eunice.    ''If  they  're  a  mind 


840  WIDOW  HEBOT'^  PAPEFS. 

io  take  it  tew  themselveS;  let  'em;  ihej  deserve  a 
Tisin'  uj),  and  I 'd  be  the  last  one  to  tell  em  they  had- 
ent  got  it." 

Well ;  what  to  dew,  I  dident  know ;  I  was  a 
stranger  there,  and  couldent  go  round  tellin  how 't  was 
myself.  But  it  did  hurt  my  feelins  amazin'ly,  to 
think  that  the  minister's  wife  was  a  sufferin'  for  ''•.,  and 
that  his  enemies  was  a  makin'  a  handle  on 't  to  injure 
him  and  drive  him  away.  I  pondered  on 't,  and  pon- 
dered on 't ;  and,  at  last,  I  made  u"p  my  mind  that  the 
least  I  could  dew  would  be  go  to  the  minister's  and 
explain  it  tew  'em.  So  I  told  Sam  and  Eunice  what 
I  meant  to  dew.  But  they  tried  to  persuade  me  not 
to.  Eunice  said  'twas  all  nonsense;  she  wa'n't  ac- 
quainted with  the  minister's  wife,  but  she  locked  like 
a  very  stiff,  haughty  woman,  and  she 'd  treat  me  cool, 
and  I 'd  "have  my  labor  for  my  pains.  But  I  deter- 
mined to  set  my  own  conscience  at  rest,  so  I  put  on 
my  things  and  started  off.  Eunice  tried  with  all  her 
might  to  stop  me,  but  my  mind  -^as  made  up.  Sam 
wouldent  go  with  me,  nor  tell  me  where  they  lived, 
so  I  had  to  inquire  the  way  as  I  went.  'Twas  a 
moonlight  night,  and  I  dident  have  no  trouble  in 
findin'  the  house ;  but  't  was  onpieasant  to  be  out 
alone  in  a  strange  place.  When  I  got  to  the  door- 
steps my  courage  failed,  and  I  was  afeard  to  ring  the 
bell ;  I  dident  know  but  what  ther  was  company  in, 
and  dident  want  to  go  in  if  ther  was.    I  noticed  a 


VISIT  TO   SLABTOWN.  S41 

little  cra(ik'  one  side  o'  the  Avinder  shades,  so  1  stepped 
up  softlj  and  peeped  m.  Ther  wa'n't  nobody  there 
but  the  minister's  wife ;  she  sot  by  the  table  a  darnin' 
stockins,  and  ther  was  a  big  basketful  o'  duds  beside 
her,  that  she  was  a  gwine  to  mend.  She  looked  like 
a  good  natered  vroman.  I  stood  and  watched  her 
for  some  time.  As  I  v/as  a  lookin'  at  her,  I  noticed  a 
smile  come  OTcr  her  face.  Thirks  me,  I  '11  bet  a  dol- 
lar she 's  a  thinkin'  about  the  Sewin'  Society."  A 
minute  after,  the  smile  went  oif,  and  she  looked 
troubled  and  oneasy ;  thinks  me,  she 's  a  wonderin' 
v/hat  '11  turn  up  next.  It  made  me  think  of  poor  Miss 
Scrantum,  and  her  troubles.  After  a  spell  I  plucked 
up  courage  and  pulled  the  bell.  She  come  to  the 
door  and  axed  me  in  ;  but  after  I 'd  got  seated,  I  did- 
ent  know  how  to  begin  nor  what  to  say.  The  minis- 
ter's wife  see  that  I  felt  aukard,  so  she  made  some  re- 
mark about  the  weather,  and  so  on ;  then  she  axed 
me  to  take  off  my  things ;  I  thanked  her,  and  said  I 
jouldent  stay  long.  At  last  I  ham'd  and  haw'd,  and 
stammered  out :  "I  hope  you  '11  pardon  a  stranger  for 
intrudin'  on  you?"  "JSTo  intrusion  at  all,"  says  she; 
"  every  body 's  welcome  to  the  minister's  house."  So 
then,  I  felt  relieved,  and  says  I :  "I come  from  Scrab- 
ble Hill  to  visit  a  relation  o'  mine  that  lives  here ;  and 
I 've  happened  to  come  just  in  the  midst  o'  the  muss 
tJiey 've  kicked  up  about  that  piece  they  're  a  layin' 
to  you.    I  know  all  tho  folks  that  it  tells  about." 


342         wir-OTV"  bedott  papers. 

"You  do?"  says  she.  '  Ahd  do  you  know  Aunt 
Magwire?" 

I  ria  up,  and  makin'  as  good  a  curchy  as  I  knoVd 
how,  says  i:  "I  '.-^  that  individdiwal,  at  yer  service." 

"  Indeed,"  says  sin,  comin'  up  to  me  and  sTiakin' 
hands  witli  me;  '  -tit-]],  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you 
though  you  have  got  me  into  a  muss." 

O  dear  me,"  says  J,  "  I  hope  you  don't  think  I- 
inow'd  that  story  was  a  gwine  to  travel  to  Slabtown, 
when  I  told  it  to  Mr,  Godey  ?" 

"Law,  no,"  says  she ;  don't  give  yourself  the  least 
trouble  about  it ;  ycu  ain't  a  bit  to  blame." 

"  Well,  I 'm  glad  you  feel  so,"  says  I ;  "but  ain't  it 
curus  that  the  Slabtown  folks  should  take  it  all  to 
themselves  as  they  dew?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  says  she ;  "  human  natur 's  the  same 
every  where." 

"I  guess  so,"  says  I.  "Any  how,  your  Sewin' 
Society  must  be  wonderfully  like  our'n,  or  they 
wouldent  be  so  detarmined  it  means  them ;  but  what 
hurts  my  feelin's  is,  that  you  should  have  to  sulfer 
for 't.  I  was  so  distrest  when  I  heerd  they  was  a  lay- 
in'  on 't  to  you,  and  usin'  on 't  to  injure  yer  husband, 
that  I  felt  as  if  I  must  come  right  over  and  see  you, 
though  you  was  a  stranger.  If  any  hodj 's  to  blame, 
I  'ni  willin'  to  bear  it." 

"  0  fie,"  says  she,  "  don't  you  fret  yourself  a  bit 
about  it.    If  people  choose  to  fit  your  co-jxts  to  theii 


VISIT  TO  SLABTOWN. 


843 


own  backs,  't  ain't  your  fault ;  and  if  they  fit  nice  and 
snug,  perhaps  they  '11  do  as  good  service  as  if  they 
were  made  expressly  for  'em." 

"Jest  so,"  says  I.  "  But  it  does  seem  tew  bad  that 
you  should  suffer  for 't.  Ain't  ther  no  way  o'  puttin 
a  stop  tew  it  ?  " 

"  Never  you  mind,"  says  she  ;  "  we  minister's  folks 
must  have  our  trials,  of  one  sort  or  another,  where- 
ever  we  go.  If  we  hadent  this  perhaps  we  should 
have  somethin'  still  worse." 

"  But,"  says  I,  what  if  they  should  drive  you  away 
from  here?" 

She  smiled,  and  dident  say  nothin'. 

"Well,"  says  I,  "to  judge  from  what  I 've  seen  o' 
Slabtown  since  I  come  here,  I 'm  bold  to  say  that,  if 
they  do  drive  you  away,  they  can't  possibly  drive  you 
to  a  worse  place." 

"Hush,  Aunt  Magwire,"  says  she^  "human  natur  s 
the  same  every  where;  wc  must  expect  trouble 
wherever  w^e  go.  I  feel  prepared  for  almost  any 
thing" 

"  Yes,"  says  I,  "  I  s'pose  you  feel  a  good  deal  as 
that  fox  in  the  story  did,  when  them  miserable  insects 
was  a  bitin' him.  'Let  'em  alone,'  says  he;  *for  if 
you  drive  'em  away  ther  '11  come  a  hungrier  swarm.' " 

Weil  that  "^CiS  the  amount  cf  our  conversation. 
The  mm'sterfc  wife  was  very  polite  to  me,  and  I  in 
vited  luer  to  call  on  me  if  ever  she  come  through 


844 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Scrabble  Hill.  She  said  she  would,  and  hoped  we 
should  git  better  acquainted. 

I  come  awaj  a  few  days  after  that,  and  I  ruther 
guess  it  '11  be  a  good  while  afore  I  go  a  visitin'  to 
Slabtown  agin'.  The  place  is  tew  awful  ginteel  to  suit 
my  taste. 


XXYllL 


JJE  'S  a  mortal  teaze,  husband  is.  He  does  like  a 
joke  about  as  well  as  any  man  I  ever  see.  But 
he 's  always  good-natured,  hain't  no  malice  at  heart  in 
his  capers.  He  was  a  leetle  wicked  though  about  thai 
are  cider  hoax  he  played  off  on  Deacon  Whipple  and 
Deacon  Bedott.  See — did  you  ever  hear  about  that  ? 
Well,  I  '11  tell  you,  for  I  think  't  was  one  o'  the  cutest 
tricks  he  ever  come.  But  in  the  first  place  you  must 
know  what  sort  o'  a  man  Deacon  Whipple  was,  or 
else  you  won't  sense  the  joke.  Well,  accordin'  to  my 
notion,  he  was  about  as  contemptible  a  specimen  of  a 
man  as  ever  walked  shoe-leather.  I  always  thought 
so,  and  so  did  husband,  though  ther  was  a  good  many 
folks  in  Wiggletown  looked  upon  him  as  clear  perfec- 
tion, 'cause  he  had  so  much  sanctimony.  He  come 
from  Meddleville  to  our  town,  and  he  was  so  wonder* 
ful  pious,  and  made  such  an  awfal  parade  of  his  relig- 
ion, prayin'  and  exortin'  and  laborin'  for  souls,  as  he 
called  it,  that  when  he 'd  ben  there  about  three  months, 

they  made  him  deacon.    As  soon  as  he  was  promoted, 

15* 


S46 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


he  begun  meddlin'  iu  every  body's  bizness  the  worst 
way,  watchin'  all  the  naborhood,  and  takin'  on  'em  to 
dew  for  every  little  thing  that  dident  happen  to  come 
come  Tip  to  his  idees  o'  duty.  This  he  called  consarn 
for  the  welfare  o'  Zion."  As  sure  as  ther  was  a 
party  o'  young  folks,  there  was  Deacon  Whipple's  long 
nose  poked  into  some  o'  the  winders  to  pry  out  what 
was  done.  And  if  ther  was  any  church  members 
among  'em,  and  they  happened  to  play  "  Button — ^but- 
ton !  whose  got  the  button  ?"  or  danse  round  a  little, 
he 'd  have  'em  hauled  up  before  the  session  to  anser 
for 't.  It  seemed  to  dew  him  a  deal  o'  good  to  ketch 
any  o'  the  brethren  or  sisters  a  trippin'.  A  body 'd  a 
thought  he  spent  the  heft  of  his  time  a  pryin'  into 
other  folks'  bizness,  but  some  how  or  other  he  man- 
aged to  take  care  of  his  own  tew ;  he  was  a  tailor  by 
trade,  and  a  reg'lar  old  cabbagin'  skinflint  to  boot. 
That  reminds  me  o'  v>-hat  Jo  Snyder  said  to  him  once. 
You  see  he  was  an  awful  stino^v  critter,  and  so  was 
Miss  Whipple.  The  'printices  used  to  complain  dret- 
fully  o'  ther  livin' — said  they  was  nigh  about  starved. 
Well,  Jo  Snyder  he  stuck  his  head  into  the  shop  win- 
der one  day  and  says  he  (Jo  was  an  indc^pendent  crit- 
ter), says  he,  "  Deacon,  how  comes  it  you  sta'^ve  yer 
^printices  so,  when  you  're  ahvays  so  flush  o'  cabbage  ?" 
The  deacon  was  awful  mad.  Says  he  to  Jo,  If  you 
was  a  profe^or  you 'd  ketch  it."  He  was  a  monstrous 
mean-ZooHn'  man  tew.    You 'd  a  know'd  to  sec  him  io 


DEACON  WHIPPLE. 


347 


the  street  that  he  was  a  contracted  critter- — ^had  a  stin- 
gy kind  of  a  walk — went  along  as  if  he  begrudged 
the  roorr  he  took  np.  The  circumstance  I  was  a 
gwine  to  tell  took  place  when  he 'd  ben  deacon  only 
^  little  risin'  tew  3^ear— and  it 's  a  sollem  fact,  ther 'd 
ben  more  cases  o'  deseplyne  in  that  short  time  than 
ther  ever  was  afore  sense  the  place  was  settled.  Now 
Deacon  Bedott  wasn't  such  a  man  at  all.  He  was 
great  on  prayin'  and  exortin',  but  he  dident  meddle  in 
his  nabors'  consarns,  nor  think  himself  so  much  pious- 
er  and  better  *n  all  the  rest  o'  creation.  Well,  the  next 
fall  arter  we  come  away  from  Wiggletown^  husband 
and  me  went  out  there  a  visitin'.  You  see  Mother 
Poole  and  Mother  Magwire  both  lived  there,  and  Sis- 
ter Bedott  tew^  and  I  s]>3nt  the  time  visitin'  round 
from  one  to  t'  other.  Well,  one  evenin'  I  was  to  Sis- 
ter Bedott'et — husband  had  gone  over  to  Mother  Ma- 
gwire's.  'T  was  about  a  year  afore  Deacon  Bedott 
died,  and  he  wa'n't  very  well — ^you  know  he  was  fee- 
ble a  number  o'  yeara  afore  his  death.  "W  ell,  he  and 
Sister  Silly  and  me  was  a  cettin'  round  the  settin'-room 
:^re,  and  Artemishy  Pike — the  V/'idder  Pike's  oldest 
darter — she  v/as  a  spendin'  the  evenin'  there.  Arte- 
niishy  was  jest  a  tellin'  us  about  Deacon  Whipple's 
coinin'  to  thair  house  the  day  afore  to  take  Cinthy 
(her  youngest  sister)  to  dew,  'cause  he 'd  heerd  how 't 
she  'tended  a  ball  when  she  was  over  to  Yarmount  a 
visitin' ;  and  Artemishy  was  in  an  av/ful  fidgit  about 


348  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS, 

it,  for  fear  he 'd  have  her  hauled  up  for  *t,  and  sh»5 
wanted  Deacon  Bedott  to  try  to  prevent  it.  Well,  she 
was  just  a  tellin'  about  it  when  ther  come  a  tnock  to 
the  door.  "  Walk  in,"  says  Sister  Bedott — and  who 
should  walk  in  but  Deacon  "Whipple,  with  Deacon 
Kenipe  and  Deacon  Crosby  on  behind  him  !  "  There," 
says  I  CO  Artemishy,  "  the  Old  One  'g  always  at  hand 
when  you  're  talkin'  about  him."      Hush  I"  says  she. 

Lawful  sakes !"  says  I ;  "I  ain't  afeard  o' bein'  haul- 
ed up — I  don't  live  here."  When  they  come  in,  Ar- 
temishy looked  half-skairt  to  deatL  She  thought 
they 'd  come  to  talk  about  d'ealin'  with  Cinthy,  but  Sis- 
ter Bedott  whispered  tew  her,  and  says  she,  "  Don't 
be  afp.ard  ;  I  don't  bleve  it 's  Cinthy.  I  guess  more 
likely  it 's  Sue  Collins."  ('T  was  the  same  time  the) 
had  her  over  the  coals.)  Whatever  't  was,  we  all 
know'd  'twas  purty  important  bizness,  for  Deacon 
Whipple  lookt  wonderful  big  and  awful  sollem  :  his 
face  was  about  half  a  yard  long.  But  though  he  tried 
to  appear  as  if  he  felt  dretful  bad,  't  was  plain  to  be 
seen  he  was  enjoy  in'  a  state  of  intarnal  satisfaction — 
•  lookt  jest  as  he  always  did  when  he  got  hold  of  a  case 
that  suited  him  to  a  T.  But  Deacon  Kenipe  and  Dea- 
con Crosby  lookt  as  if  they  raly  felt  bad.  (They  wa^ 
very  clever  men  indeed.)  The}/  dident  say  a  word,  bat 
Deacon  Whipple  he  convarsed  a  spell  about  matters 
and  things  in  gineral,  said  the  weather  was  oncommon 
fine  for  the  season  o'  year,  crops  were  wonderful 


DEACON  WHIPPLE. 


349 


ftbundant,  'specially  the  apple  crop — though  't  was  to 
be  lamented  that  any  o'  the  good  critters  o'  Providence 
should  be  abused  and  turned  to  the  ruination  o'  man- 
kind as  apples  was  by  bein^  made  into  cider.  Then 
he  went  on  to  depTore  the  low  state  o'  religion  in  the 
place,  axod  us  wimmin  folks  about  the  state  of  our 
minds  and  so  on,  and  then  said  they 'd  come  on  pri- 
vate bizness  and  would  like  to  see  Deacon  Bedott 
alone  a  spell.  So  we  three  wimmin  got  np  and  went 
into  the  kitchen.  '*  Now/'  says  Sister  Bedott,  says 
she,  *'  I  feel  as  if  I 'd  like  to  know  what  they 've  come 
for — wouldent  you?"  "Yes,"  says  we.  "Well, 
then,"  says  Silly,  "  fet 's  go  into  the  buttry  and  listen.'* 
"  Agreed,"  says  we.  So  in  we  went.  You  see  ther 
was  a  passage  between  the  settin'-room  and  the  kitch- 
en, and  on  one  side  o'  this  passage  the  buttry  was  sit- 
tiwated ;  and  ther  was  a  door  leadin'  from  the  buttry 
into  the  settin'-room,  and  atop  o'  this  door  ther  was  an 
awful  wide  crack,  so 't  a  body  could  hear  every  word 
that  was  said  in  the  settin'-room  there.  "Well,  in  we 
goes,  as  still  as  mice.  Artemishy  and  me  we  got  up 
on  an  old  box  and  peeped  througli  the  crack,  and  Sis- 
ter Bedott  she  put  her  ear  to  the  keyhole.  Deacon 
Whipple  had  begun  to  talk  afore  we  got  fixed.  The 
first  thing  I  heerd  him  say,  says  he,  "  It 's  very  on- 
pleasant  bizness,  very  indeed.  I  assure  you  it 's  very 
tryin'  to  my  feelins  to  be  necessiated  to  rebuke  a  bro- 
ther, but  it  seems  to  be  an  insurm.ountable  duty  in 


350 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


this  case.  We  're  all  poor  erria'  critters  ;  the  best  or 
us  is  liable  to  go  astray  and  fail  in  onr  duty.  I 'm  free 
to  confess  tliat  even  I  have  my  shortcomins  " — I  giieas 
he  had  an  attack  on 't  when  he  cut  husband's  panta- 
loons ;  they  was  so  short  and  so  tight  he  had  to  give 
'em  to  Jeff — "I  have  my  shortcomins,  and  I  feel  to 
mourn  for 't ;  I  feel  to  lament  that  I 'm  fraquently 
cold  and  slack  in  dewin'  my  duty — don't  keep  such  a 
constant  watch  round  the  walls  o'  Zion  as  I 'd  ought 
tew.  I  feel  as  if  it  may  be  owin'  to  my  onfaithfulness 
Brother  Bedott,  that  you've  fell  into  the  practice  o' 

such  a  hyneous  offence — ahem  "    "  Grosh !"  saj's 

Deacon  Bedott,  says  he — (nov^  Deacon  Bedott  never 
used  bad  language  in  his  life,  but  once  in  a  while  when 
he  was  dretfully  took  by  surprise  he  used  to  say 
"  gosh  /") — "  Gosh,"  says  he,  I  want  to  know  if  you 
was  a  meanin'  me  all  this  time  ?  "Well,  I 'd  like  to 
know  what  I  've  ben  a  dewin'  ?"  "0  dear,"  says  Sil- 
ly, says  she,  "  it 's  husband,  it 's  husband  I  What  has 
he  done — what  has  he.c?one.^"  "Don't  make  a  fuss," 
says  I ;  "they  '11  hear  you,  and  we  shall  have  to  clear 
out."  Deacon  Bedott  went  on ;  "I  ain't  aware  o'  bein' 
in  the  practice  of  any  known  sin.  If  I 've  done 
wrong  in  any  way  I 'm  willin'  to  be  told  on 't,  and  I  hope 
I  shall  take  your  rebuke  as  I 'd  ought  tew — though  as 
I  said  afore  I  ain't  aware  o'  bein'  in  the  practice  of 
any  hyneous.  offense,  as  you  call  it."  Says  Deacon 
Whipple,  says  he,  with  a  rael  provokin'  grin,  "  I  *m 


DEACON  WHIPPLE. 


351 


raly  sorry  you  're  so  dull  of  apprehension,  Brother  Be- 
dott.  It 's  truly  lamentyble,  when  a  brother,  that 's  ben 
apparently  a  burnin-  and  shinin'  light,  turns  out  to  be 
such  agreevious  transgressor — when  sinners  round  is  in 
such  perishin'  need  o'  havin'  good  examples  sot  afore 
'em,  to  make  'em  cast  down  the  weapons  o'  rebellion. 
And  it  *s  still  woss,  when  such  a  backslidin'  brother  is 
reasoned  with,  to  see  him  refuse  to  confess  his  faults, 
and  repent  of  his  sins  and  mend  his  ways."  Dew 
tell  me,"  says  Deacon  Bedott,  says  he,  "what  the  sin 
iSj  and  if  I  've  raly  been  guilty  on 't,  I'll  repent,  and 
confess,  and  forsake  it  tew."  "  I' m  sorry  to  see  you 
so  obderret,"  says  Deacon  Whipple,  says  he.  "You 
know,  Scripter  says,  if  a  brother  is  overtook  in  a  fault, 
the  brother  must  go  tew  him  and  tell  him  on 't — and 
if  he  refuses  to  hear  'em,  whj^,  he  must  be  dealt  with 
afore  the  congregation  ;  and  I 'm  afeard  that 's  what 
you  m  have  to  come  tew,  Brother  Bedott,  if  you  hold 
out  so."  "  0  misery  me!"  says  Silly,  says  she,  "  What 
has  that  man  ben  a  devoinl  what  has  he  ben  a  dewin ! 
O  dear  me  I  what  an  onfortunit  woman  I  be !"  "  Sil- 
ly," says  I,  "'  why  can't  you  shet  yer  head  ?  Take 
my  word  for 't,  he  hain't  done  nothin' — it  '11  turn  out, 
to  be  jest  nothin'  at  all,  I  '11  bet  a  goose,  so  dew  be 
easy."  Well,  arter  Deacon  Whipple  had  gone  on  so 
for  ever  so  long,  Deacon  Bedott  got  clear  out  o' 
patience,  and  says  he,  "For  massy 's  sake,  what  is  it? 
Brother  Kenipe,  Brother  Crosby,  dew  tell  me  what 


352  WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

'tis."  " I 'd  rather  not,"  says  Deacon  Kenipe,  f^ays  lie, 
"Brother  WJiipple  begun,  and  he  ought  to  finisTi." 
"I  say  so  tew,"  says  Deacon  Crosby.  "Why,"  say.'^ 
Deacon  Whipple,  ''it's  curus  that  Brother  Bedott 
should  be  so  onv.-illin'  to  own  up,  without  my  comin' 
right  out."  "Oidear  me^suz!"  says  Sister  Bedott, 
"that  he  should  be  a  cuttin'  capers,  and  me  never  sus 
pect  him  on't!  O  Melissy,  I  shall  die  /  I  shall  diel' 
and  she  begun  wringin'  her  hands  like  mad.  "  You 
simple  critter,"  says  I,  "  dew  save  yer  highsteerics  till 
there 's  occasion  for  'em ;  dew  keep  still,  they  '11  hear 
you,  sartin  sure,  and  if  they  should  ketch  us  a  listenin'; 
't  would  ruin  all  our  three  repertations."  On  account 
o'  Silly's  interruption,  we  lost  what  Deacon  Whipple 
said  next — and  the  first  thing  we  heerd  arter  she  got 
quiet  agin,  was  Deacon  Bedott  sayin'  "  It 's  curus  you 
should  be  so  willin'  to  believe  such  a  story  about  me, 
when  you 've  know'd  me  some  years,  and  hain't  never 
heerd  nothin'  o'  the  kind  till  now."  "I  for  one  wa'n't 
willin'  to  believe  it,"  says  Deacon  Kenipe ;  "  nor  I 
nother,"  says  Deacon  Crosby,  says  he.  "  Now,  ther 
ain't  no  use  in  denyin'  on 't,  Brother  Bedott,"  says 
Deacon  Whipple,  says  he — "  A  few  years  ago,  't  wa'n't 
thought  to  be  no  great  crime,  to  take  a  glass  o'  sperrits 
now  and  then ;  ther  wa'n't  so  much  light  on  the  sub- 
ject as  ther  is  now  in  these  ere  temperance  days  ;  but, 
even  then,  'twas  eny  most  an  onheerd-of  tbing  for 
any  body,  to  git  intosticated  on  cider — as  you  're  in  a 


D  E  A  C  O  K        K  I  P  P  L  E  . 


853 


"Labit  o'  dewin'  now  against  liglit  and  privelidge — and 
jon  a  deacon  tew — a  man  that  makes  such  high  pre- 
tensions. 0  Brother  Bedott!  it's  a  hjneous  and  a 
cryin'  sin."  "Consarn  it!"  says  Deacon  Bedott,  saj^s 
he,  "  dew  stop  a  minnit  and  let  one  speak;  I  want  to 
knoWj  who  said  I  was  in  a  habit  o'  takin'  tew  much." 
'^Whoever  'twas,"  says  Silly,  says  she,  "they  lied, 
and  they  know'd  it,  and  I  '11  tell  Deacon  Whipple  so — 
lemme  come,  Melissy."  (It  ahvays  made  Silly  awful 
mad  to  have  any  body  else  run  the  deacon  down, 
though*  she  used  to  give  it  tew  him  herself,  like  the 
dragon  sometimes.)  "  Woman  alive,"  says  I,  "what 
be  you  dewin !  you  shan't  go  out  there — you  '11  jest 
epile  the  hull — and  we  shan't  hear  another  word — 
it  '11  be  time  enough  for  you  to  put  in  bymeby."  She 
made  such  a  noise,  they 'd  a  heerd  her,  if  they  hadent 
a  got  to  talkin'  purty  loud  themselves.  Well,  she  got 
still ;  and  the  next  thing  I  heerd  was  Deacon  Kenipe 
say  in',  says  he,  "Brother  Whipple,  dew  come  to  the 
pint ;  dew  tell  Brother  Bedott,  who 't  was — and  don't 
hurt  his  feelins  any  more  'n  you  can  help."  "  Well, 
then,"  says  Deacon  Whipple,  says  he,  "'twas  yer 
brothsr-in-law,  Mr.  Magv/ire."  "Gracious  sakes 
alive!"  says  Deacon  Bedctt,  says  he,  "did  Josh  say 
that  about  me  ?  What  on  arth  did  the  critter  mean  ?" 
"He  meant  what  he  said^  I  s'pose,"  says  Deacon 
Whipple,  "  that  you  're  in  a  habit  o'  gittin'  corned  on 
cider.''    Says  Deacon  Bedott,  says  he,    Did  Josh  say 


354  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

he'd  SLCiilly  seen  me  drunk  on  cider?"  ^'He  meant 
so,  ondonbtedly,-'  .s?js  Deacon  Whipple;  "tho'  them 
wa'n't  precise!^'  the  words  he  used ;  he  called  to  mv 
shop  to-daj  a  purpose  to  tell  me  on't,  said  'twas 
awful  trjin'  to  his  feehns,  to  be  obleeged  to  expose 
you,  not  only  on  account  o'  your  bcin'  a  connection  o' 
hisen,  but  'cause  he  raly  thought  you  was  a  worthy 
man  in  the  main;  'but,'  says  he,  'I  dew  feel  as  if  I 
couldent  leave  Wiggletown  with  a  clear  conshence, 
without  tellin'  you  that  I 've  actilly  know'd  Deacon 
Bedott  to  be  the  woss  for  cider  I — as  true  as  my  name's 
Joshuway  Magwire,  I 've  seen  that  man  half  shaved 
on  cider  afore  breakfast  in  the  mornin'.'  Now,  though 
T  hain't  no  very  high  opinion  o'  Mr.  Magwire,  bein' 
he 's  a  worldly  man,  and  don't  know  nothin'  about 
experimental  religion,  I  dew  b'ieve,  he  wouldent  tell 
such  a  thing  as  that  right  out  and  out,  if  't  wa'n't 
true,  'specially  about  his  brother-in-law.  I  should  a 
went  right  over  to  Parson  Potter  about  it,  if  he 'd  ben 
to  hum,  but  he 's  gone  a  journey,  you  know.  0,  how 
that  man  will  take  it  to  heart,  vrhen  he  hears  ther 's 
such  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothin'  in  the  midst  o'  his  flock  I 
So  I  goes  over  and  tells  Brother  Kenipe  and  Brother 
Crosby  on 't.  They  was  very  onwillin'  to  come  over 
with  me  to  labor  with  you  to-night.  I 'm  sorry  to 
say,  they  're  ginerally  slack  about  dewin'  their  duty 
in  cases  o'  deseplyne — the  heft  on 't  comes  on  to  me, 
and  I 'm  thankful  I 'm  always  ready  to  lift  a  warnin' 


DEACON  WHIPPLE. 


355 


voice  in  sinners'  ears,  and  dew  my  endeever  to  reclaim 
backsliders,  and  my  exartions  has  been  blest  beyond 
my  most  sanguinary  expectations.  I  hain't  expected 
much  help  from  you  on  account  o'  yer  poor  health ; 
and  I  feel  to  rejoice  now,  that  you  hain't  ben  active 
3ence  yo'i 've  turned  out  to  be  such  a  hyneous  trans- 
gressor— 0,  Brother  Bedott  1  if  you  're  half  shaved  on 
cider  afore  breakfast,  what  must  be  yer  condition  afore 
night  I  purty  well  upsot  I  should  think."  Deacon 
Bedott  dident  say  a  word;  he  said  afterward  he 
thought  he 'd  let  Brother  Whipple  go  on,  and  see  how 
much  he  vx)uld  say.  After  a  minnit  Deacon  Whipple 
begun  agin'  and  says  he,  "  Dew  you.  still  continue  to 
deny  it  ?"  Deacon  Bedott  never  opened  his  head 
"  Well,"  says  Deacon  Whipple,  says  he,  "  silence  gives 
jonsent ;  so,  I  s'pose  you  don't  mean  to  hold  out  no 
longer,  and  say 't  ain't  a  fact.  Well 't  ain't  tew  late  to 
repent  and  reform  yet.  I  hope  you  '11  make  up  yer 
mind,  to  come  fbrrard  next  Sabberday,  and  confess 
yer  besettin'  sin  afore  the  congregation  ;  and  mabby 
you  '11  go  to  the  temperance  meetin'  next  Saturday 
night,  if  you  'r  able  to  git  out,  and  give  an  account  o^ 
yer  experence  in  drinkin' — reformed  ineebrits  does  a 
mense  sight  of  good  tellin'  the  partickler  circum- 
stances 'tendin'  their  downfall  and  reformation — and, 
I  should  think  your  experence  would  have  an  atten- 
dancy  to  be  useful  as  a  warnin'  to  moderit  drinkers — ■ 
by  showin'  on  'em  what  they 've  got  to  come  tew,  if 


356  WIDOW    BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

they  ain't  nipt  in  the  bud.  If  you  don't  consent  to 
dew  any  or  both  o'  these,  why,  we  '11  have  to  deal  with 
you,  that 's  all.  We  don't  want  to  expose  you  no 
more  'n  what 's  necessary.  I  hain't  said  a  word  about 
it  to  nobody,  but  jest  my  wife.  What  dew  you  say 
to  confession?  lafiin  hey  !"  (You  see,  Deacon  Bedott 
begun  to  grin.)  "  0,  Brother  Bedott,  what  a  iremen- 
juous  sinner  you  be !  not  only  to  refuse  to  confess  yer 
inickities,  but  laff  at  'em !  Dew  you  still  continner 
to  deny  it?"  Jest  then,  husband, bust  into  the  room ; 
and  Jo  Snyder  and  Shubal  Green  and  Mr.  Smith  and 
Doctor  Pike  (Artemishy's  brother),  and  S  mn  D  :)lhns 
(Jue's  brother) — ^they 'd  followed  the  session  to  the 
house,  and  ben  a  listenin'  to  the  door  ever  sence. 
Husband,  he  went  straight  up  to  Deacon  Pedott  and 
shook  his  fist  in  his  face,  and  says  ho,  "Deny  it  if  you 
darst  afore  me! — dident  I  see  you  half  shaved  on 
cider  this  very  mornin'  ?  dident  I  empty  the  water  out 
o'  yer  shavin'  cup  onbeknown  to  nobody,  while  it  was 
a  heatin'  ?  and  dident  I  fill  it  up  with  some  o'  Silly's 
sweet  cider  she 'd  got  to  make  sass  on  ?  and  was  n't  I 
a  settin'  by  when  you  took  it  off  the  stove  ?  and 
was  n't  I  a  lookin'  on,  when  you  had  such  a  dretful 
time  a  tryin'  to  make  yer  lather  ?  and  dident  I  see 
you  scrape  and  saw  away  at  your  face  till  the  blDod 
run  ?  and  dident  I  see  you  throw  down  yer  razor  at 
last,  and  declare  the  old  dragon  was  in  it !  and  was  n': 
you  jest  about  half  shaved  then?  soyl  and  oident  I 


DEACON  WHIPPLE. 


357 


bust  out  a  laffiu  then,  and  tell  you 't  was  the  fast  time 
I  ever  see  you  tlie  woss  for  cider  ? — deny  it,  if  you 
darst."  "  I  plead  guilty,"  says  Deacon  Bedott,  says 
he.  Then  we  wimmin  folks  bust  out  o'  the  buttry 
into  the  settin'  room ;  and  ther  was  such  a  gineral 
roarin'  and  la&n'  as  I  never  heerd  afore  nor  sence. 
Deacon  Kenipe  and  Dtacon  Crosby  got  up  and  shook 
hands  with  Deacon  Bedott  and  axed  his  pardin'  for 
comin'  over  there  to  take  him  to  dew — and  Deacon 
Bedott,  he  told  'em,  they  wa'n't  to  blame  at  all — and 
Silly,  she  was  so  tickled ;  she  lafft  one  minnit,  and 
cried  the  next,  and  eny  most  went  into  highsteerics : 
and  Artemishy,  she  laffed,  and  Mr.  Magwire  and  the 
men  folks  they  hollered ;  and  you  never  seen  such  a 
time  as  ther  was.  Deacon  Bedott  was  a  very  kind- 
hearted  man,  and  he  thought  they  was  a  most  tew 
hard  on  1  eajon  Whipple,  so  he  turned  round  to  apol- 
igize  to  ^.T.'i.  and  lo  and  behold !  he 'd  took  advantage 
o'  the  commotion  and  slipt  out.  But  though  Deacon 
Bedott  tried  to  look  sober,  and  told  husband 't  was  tew 
bad  to  play  off  such  a  joke — 't  was  plain  to  be  seen  he 
wa'n't  sorry  to  see  Deacon  Whipple  come  up  with. 
Poor  Deacon  Whipple  I  'twas  a  humblin'  stroke  tew 
him — every  body  was  throwin'  on 't  in  his  face — he 
oouldent  go  no  wher,  but  what  that  cider  was  throw'd 
in  his  face.  And  Miss  Whipple  tew — she  felt  awful 
mean  about  it — you  see  she 'd  ben  all  round  the  na« 
borhood  a  tellin'  that  Dsacoo  Bedott  was  a  drinkin 


358 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


man.  But  it  cured  Deacon  Whipple  of  his  coiisarn 
for  the  welfare  o'  Zion  ;  he  never  made  another  com- 
plaint aginst  nobody  while  he  lived  there ;  and  about 
six  months  aflerward,  he  moved  away  fro- 1  Wiggle- 
town. 


XXIX. 


ilrs.  gluWato's  ^ulp  for  ^^otata  firtMng. 

J^/J^R.  Jolin  Darling,  a  wortlij^  and  intelligent  me- 
chanic,  who  has  been,  for  two  years  past,  a  resi- 
dent of  our  town,  was  somewhat  surprised  and  consid- 
erably gratified  one  day  last  fall,  at  receiving  an  invi- 
tation to  dine  with  Colonel  Philpot,  one  of  the  aristoc- 
acy. 

Mr.  Darling  enjoys  that  respect  in  our  community 
which  mechanical  ingenuity  and  integrity  united  are 
always  sure  to  command  every  where.  These  quali- 
ties, and  a  more  than  ordinary  degree  of  information, 
acquired  by  the  employment  of  much  of  his  leisure 
time  in  reading,  have  given  him  an  almost  unbounded 
influence  among  his  own  class. 

Though  the  invitation  to  Colonel  P.'s  created  some 
surprise  in  his  mind,  he  felt  more  disposed  to  be  pleas- 
ed at  the  honor  than  to  question  the  motives  which 
prompted  it ;  for  his  nature  is  wholly  free  from  sus- 
picion and  the  petty  feeling  of  jealousy  which  those  in 
his  station  sometimes  indulge  toward  the  "upper  ten 


860 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


— feelings  with  which,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  the  bosoin 
of  his  better  half  was  frequently  agitated. 

"  We  have  been  neighbors  for  some  time,  Mr.  Dar- 
ling," said  Colonel  Philpot ;  "  it  is  time  we  were  better 
jicquainted.  You  must  come  and  dine  socially  with 
nie  to-morrow.  Mrs.  Philpot  and  the  children  are  out 
of  town,  and  I  am  going  to  have  a  few  friends  to  en- 
liven my  solitude." 

So  John  Darling  "  saved  his  appetite,"  dressed  him- 
self in  his  best  clothes,  and,  at  the  appointed  hour — a 
somewhat  later  one  than  his  customary  time  for  dining 
— repaired  to  Colonel  Philpot's. 

He  met  there  several  of  his  associates — ^had  a  *'  fine 
time  and  a  grand  dinner " — the  utmost  hilarity  and 
good  feeling  prevailed ;  and  Mr.  Darling  entertained 
his  wife  with  an  account  of  it  at  every  meal  for  sever- 
al weeks. 

Hester,"  said  he  one  day,  as  they  were  seated  at  a 
codfish  dinner,  "did  you  ever  taste  a  potato  pud- 
ding?" 

"Potato  pudding!  ISTo ;  I  never  heerd  of  such  a 
thing." 

"Well,  I  wish  you  could,  for 't  is  delicious!  We 
had  one  when  I  dined  at  Colonel  Philpot's." 

"  I  wonder  what  3^0  u  did  rut  have  at  Colonel  Phil- 
pot's," said  Mrs.  Darling.  "  I  declare,  I 'm  tired  hear- 
ing about  it." 

"  Wei],  I  '11  tell  you  one  tiling  we  did  n't  liave — W5 


RECIPE   FOR   POTATO   PUDDING.  361 

did  IV b  have  codfish.  But,  tliat  pudding — I  wisli  you'd 
•earn  how  to  make  it;  it  was  s^uperb !" 

"  I  presume  so  ;  and  T  guess,  if  I  had  half  a  dozen 
servants  at  my  heels,  and  a  thorough-trained  cook  into 
tht,  bargain,  I  could  have  things  superb,  too.  But,  as 
"ong  as  I  have  every  thing  to  do  myself,  and  very 
little  to  do  witJi^  I  don't  see  how  I 'm  to  get  up  things 
in  style.    I  wonder  you  can  expect  me  to." 

"  I  don't  expect  you  to,  Hester.  You  always  do 
things  to  suit  my  taste.  But  that  pudding  was  excel- 
lent; and,  being  made  of  potatoes,  I  thought,  of  course 
it  must  be  economical,  and — ' ' 

"Economical!  That  's  all  you  know  about  it. 
What  gumps  men  are !  I  '11  warrant  it  had  forty  dif- 
ferent things  in  it,  and  less  potatoes  than  any  thing 
else.  I 'm  no  hand  to  fuss  up.  I  like  plain  cookery, 
for  my  part." 

"  So  do  I,  as  a  general  thing.  But  then,  you  know, 
it 's  well  to  have  something  a  little  better  than  ordina- 
ry once  in  a  while." 

"  Well,  if  you  're  not  satisfied  with  my  way  of 
doing  things,,  you  must  hire  a  cook,  or  go  and  board 
out."  And  Mrs.  Darling  put  on  her  injured  loolc^  and 
remained  silent  during  the  rest  of  the  dinner. 

But,  after  all,  she  was  not  an  ill-natured  woman 

really ;  and,  after  her  husband  had  gone  to  his  shop, 

she  began  to  feal  a  little  pricked  in  her  conscience  for 

having  been  so  cross  at  dinner.    She  wished  she  had 

16 


362  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

not  gone  on  at  such  a  rate.  But,  then,  John  had  "bored 
her  so  about  that  dinner  at  Colonel  Philpot's,  she  was 
out  of  patience  with  it.  Yet  what  right  had  she  to  be 
out  of  patience  with  John  ?  Ee  never  was  out  of  pa- 
tience with  her,  and  she  could  but  acknowledge  that 
he  often  had  reason  to  be  so.  So  she  resolved  to  make 
it  up  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  John,"  said  she,  as  she  handed  him  a  cup  of  tea, 
"  I 've  a  great  notion  to  try  that  potato  pudding.  I 
believe  I  could  make  one." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  Hester,"  said  her  husband ;  "  you 
can  do  almost  any  thing  you  try  to." 

suppose  it  takes  butter,  and  sugar,  and  eggs,  and 
spices,  and  so  forth ;  but  I  wish  I  knew  the  propor- 
tions." 

It 's  very  easy  to  find  out  all  about  it  by  calling  at 
Colonel  Philpot's.  He  said  his  wife  would  be  delight- 
ed to  get  acquainted  with  you." 

"  So  you  've  told  me  a  dozen  times ;  but  I  think 
that,  if  she  wanted  to  get  acquainted  with  me,  she 
might  call  upon  me.  She 's  lived  here  longer  than  I 
have,  and  it  is  n't  my  place  to  call  first ;  and  I  don't 
believe  the  colonel  tells  the  truth  when  he  says  she 
wants  to  get  acquainted  with  me." 

"  Well,  I  always  think  people  mean  as  they  say, 
and  I  wish  you  would,  too,  Hester." 

"  But  it 's  very  evident  that  she  holds  herself  a  great 
deal  above  me.    She  has  no  reason  to,  certainly,  for 


RECIPE   FOR   POTATO   PUDDING.  863 


her  family  was  ii*t  half  as  respectable  as  mine.  Mrs. 
David  Potter  knows  all  about  tliem,  root  and  branch, 
and  she  says  that  Mrs.  Philpot's  father  kept  a  very  low 
tavern  in  Norridge,  and  Mrs.  Philpot  herself  tended 
the  bar  when  she  was  a  girl.  But,  somehow,  Colonel 
Philpot  happened  to  fall  in  love  with  her,  and  he  sent 
her  away  to  school,  and  then  married  her." 

"  Well,  that 's  nothing  against  her,  is  it  ?" 

"  No,  of  course  it  would  n't  be,  if  she  did  n't  carry 
her  head  so  high  now.  But  it 's  always  the  way  with 
such  persons — they  never  know  how  to  bear  prosper- 
ity. There  would  n't  be  any  thing  said  about  her  ori- 
gin, if  she  did  n't  put  on  such  airs ;  but,  as  long  as 
she  feels  so  lifted  up,  folks  will  talk  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  do  her  justice,  Hester.  You 
know  nothing  about  her  excepting  what  you 've  heard. 
At  any  rate,  it  would  do  no  harm  to  call  upon  her." 

After  repeated  conversations  and  discussions  of  this 
sort;  Mrs.  Darling  concluded  to  pay  Mrs.  Philpot  a 
visit.  She  could  make  the  potato  pudding  an  excuse, 
and  be  governed  by  Mrs.  P.'s  reception  in  regard  to 
further  intercourse.  Mrs.*  Philpot  has  been,  for  sever- 
al years  past,  to  use  her  own  expression,  "  very  unfor- 
tunate in  her  domestics."  With  the  exception  of  her 
cook — ^up  to  the  time  of  Mrs.  Darling's  call— she  had 
seldom  kept  one  above  a  month,  and  sometimes  not  as 
long  as  that.  This  frequent  change  of  servants  was 
not  so  much  owing  to  any  unkindness  on  Mrs.  Phil 


364  WIDOW   BEDOTT   PAPERS.  ^ 

pof  s  part,  as  to  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Mudlaw,  her  cook, 
could  never  agree  with  them.  This  functionary  had 
been,  for  several  years,  a  fixture  in  Colonel  P.'s  estab- 
lishment ;  indeed,  Mrs.  P.  declared  she  could  not  pos- 
sibly get  along  without  her.  Mrs.  Mudlaw  was  in 
fact,  a  good  cook,  and  so  entirely  reheved  that  lady 
from  all  care  in  that  department  that,  rather  than  part 
with  her,  she  was  wilhng  to  submit  to  her  petty  tyr- 
anny in  every  thing.  The  cook  actually  "  ruled  the 
roast "  at  Colonel  P.'s  in  more  than  one  sense.  And 
she  did  not  often  find  the  subalterns  of  the  house- 
hold as  submissive  to  her  wishes  as  Mrs.  Philpot  her- 
self was.  She  contrived  to  quarrel  them  away  in  a 
short  time,  for  she  had  only  to  say  to  Mrs.  P.,  Well, 
either  Bridget  or  I  must  quit,  so  you  may  take  your 
choice  ;"  and  the  offending  servant-maid  >vas  dismissed 
forthwith,  there  being  no  appeal  from  Mrs.  Mudlaw's 
decision. 

A  scene  of  this  kind  had  just  occurred  when  Mrs. 
Darling  made  her  visit,  and  a  new  raw  Irish  giil  had 
that  morning  been  installed  in  place  of  the  one  dis- 
charged. The  duty  of  this  girl  was  to  answer  the 
door-bell,  and  help  Mrs.  Mudlaw.  In  fact,  the  hard- 
est and  most  disagreeable  of  the  kitchen-work  came 
upon  her.  When  Mrs.  Darling  rang,  Mrs.  Philpot 
was  in  the  kitchen  giving  instructions  to  Peggy,  or 
rather  acquiescing  in  those  which  Mrs.  Mudlaw  was 
laying  down. 


EECIPE   FOR   POTATO   PUDDIKG.  865 

"There  goes  the  bell,"  said  that  important  person- 
age, and  Mrs.  Philpot  hastened  to  an  upper  window  to 
see  who  it  was-.  Having  satisfied  herself,  she  came 
back  and  told  Peggy  to  go  and  admit  the  ladj. 

"  Why  don't  you  start,  you?"  said  Mrs.  Mudlaw! 

"  Well,  w^hat  '11 1  do  now  ?''  said  Peggy,  whirling 
round  in  thai  bewildered  way  peculiar  to  Irish  girls. 

Do !''  roared  Mudlaw.  '*  Don't  you  know  nothin'? 
Hain't  v;e  jest  been  tellin'  ye 't  was  your  duty  to  tend 
to  the  door-bell  ?  Eun  to  the  front  door  and  let  'em 
in,  and  show  'em  into  the  drawin'-room.  You  know 
where  that  is,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Faith,  I  knoY.r  ^Aa^"  answered  Peggy,  and  away 
she  ran.  thanking  her  stars  that  there  was  at  least  one 
thing  that  she  knew. 

"  It 's  no  one  that  I  know,  I 'm  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Philpot,  after  Peggy  had  gone  ;  "  at  least  the  bonnet 
and  shawl  are  not  familiar  to  me.  I  presume  it  is 
somebody  I  don't  care  about  seeing." 

''I  should  n't  wonder,"  said  Mudlaw.  "But  1 
s'pose  you  could  n't  do  other  ways,  as  the  curnel  has 
given  orders  that  nobody  ain't  to  be  refused  till  after 
^fec^ibw." 

Witb  much  confusion  and  toe-stubbling,  the  unfor- 
tunate Peggy  ushered  Mrs.  Darling  into  the  nursery, 
which  was  also  Mrs.  Philpot's  ordinary  sitting-room. 
It  was  directly  over  the  kitchen,  and  heated  by  the 
cooking  stove  by  the  means  of  a  drum,  or  dummy,  as 


866 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Mrs.  Mudlaw  called  it.  Every  word  that  was  said  in 
the  kitchen  could  easily  be  heard  in  the  nursery — 
quite  a  convenience  to  Mudlaw,  as  it  enabled  her  often 
to  communicate  Avith  Mrs.  PhiJpot  without  the  trouble 
of  going  up  stairs.  Many  an  interesting  account  of 
what  she  did  when  Mr.  Mudlaw  was  living,  and  how 
they  managed  at  General  K.'s  when  she  was  staying 
there,  has  gone  up  that  stove-pipe. 

The  nursery  was  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  disorder, 
as  was  usually  the  case,  though  the  children  were  all 
out  just  then.  Sukey  the  nurse-girl,  had  taken  the 
baby  out  to  ride,  and  Philip  Augustus  had  gone  with 
them ;  and  Zoe  Matilda  was  at  school.  Playthings  ot 
every  description,  carts,  horses^  dolls,  as  well  as  chil- 
dren's books  and  clothes,  were  scattered  about  the  room 
in  what  Mrs.  Darling  called  "  awful  confusion."  But 
she  had  not  time  for  inward  comments  upon  this  state 
of  things,  before  her  attention  was  called  to  the  con- 
versation below. 

"It's  Mrs.  Darling  as  wushes  to  see  you  mum." 
said  Peggy. 

"  Tliat  Mrs.  Darling !  Did  you  ever  I"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Philpot. 

"  She  ain't  nobody,  is  she?"  said  Mrs.  Mudlaw. 

"  Nobody  at  all.  Her  husband  is  a  cabinet-maker , 
but  the  colonel  has  charged  it  upon  iXtC  to  be  polite  to 
her  jest  now.  He  wished  me  to  eall  upon  her ;  but  .1 
would  n't  condescend  to  stoop  so  low  as  that,  though 


RECIPE   FOfl   POTATO   PUDDING.  367 

he  made  me  promise  to  treat  her  witli  attention  if  she 
called." 

"  Well,  I  wonldent  do  it,  if  I  was  you,"  said  the 
cook.      I 'd  be  mistress  in  my  own  house  any  how." 

"  But,  3^ou  know,  it 's  for  his  interest  now.  He 
says  that  Darling  has  a  great  deal  of  influence  amoDg 
mechanics — can  command  a  good  many  votes." 

Oh,  I  remember  now  !  he 's  one  of  them  codgers 
that  dined  here  while  you  was  away,  that  the  cumel 
was  a  laughin'  about  afterward,  and  telling  you  how 
awkward  they  handled  the  silver  forks." 

"  Yes ;  is  n't  it  provoking  to  have  to  be  polite  to 
such  people  ?  Well,  I  shall  be  glad  when  'lection 's 
over,  for  the  colonel  says  I  may  cut  them  all  then, 
and  I  think  it  won't  be  long  before  they  sink  back  to 
their  own  level."  And  Mrs.  Philpot  arose  with  a  sigh, 
and  ascended  to  the  drawing-room,  arranging  her 
features  into  a  gracious  and  patronizing  expression  as 
she  went. 

Mrs.  Darling's  feelings  during  this  conversation 
"  can  h(i  better  imagined  than  described,"  as  the  novels 
would  aay.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  leave  the  house 
Withor.t  waiting  for  Mrs.  Philpot's  appearance,  and  she 
rose  and  made  a  few  steps  with  that  intention ;  but, 
on  second  thoughts,  she  resolved  to  remain,  and  let 
her  hnow  that  she  only  came  on  an  errand,  and  re- 
Bumed  her  seat. 

When  Mrs.  Philpot  found  no  one  in  the  drawing- 


368 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


room  slie  returned  to  the  kitchen,  supposing  that  he? 
visitor  had  gone. 

*^  She gone/'  said  she,  "  without  waiting  for  me. 
She  does  n't  know  enough  about  good  society  to  un- 
derstand that  a  lady  does  n't  make  her  appearance  thn 
moment  she 's  called  for." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  was  in  the  nursery  all 
the  time,"  said  Mudlaw ;  "  for  I  heard  a  stepping  up 
there  a  while  ago,  and  the  children  hain't  got  home 
yet.    TVhere  did  you  take  her  to,  you  ?" 

"  Why,  I  tuck  her  in  the  dhrawin'-room,  sure,  as 
you  tould  me,  right  overhid,"  said  Peggy,  in  some 
alarm. 

"You  blunderin'  Irish  gumpheadi  Don't  you 
know  the  drawin'  room  from  the  nursery?" 

"OchI  but  I  thought  it  was  the  dhrawin'-room ; 
for  dident  I  see  the  young  masther  a  dhrawin'  his  cart, 
and  was  n't  Shukey  a  dhrawin'  the  baby  about  the 
floore  by  its  feet,  when  I  went  up  to  take  the  wather 
this  mornin'  ?" 

"  There,  I  told  you  she  was  a  born  fool !"  said  Mud- 
law,  in  a  rage.  "  She  '11  never  know  nothing — she  '11 
never  learn  nothing — you  may  as  well  send  her  off- 
first  as  last." 

"Hush!  don't  speak  so  loud,"  said  Mrs.  Philpot,  m 
a  whisper.  "  She  can  hear  all  you  say — she  has  heard 
enough  already.  Dear  me,  what  shall  I  do?  The 
colonel  will  be  so  provoked  '    How  could  you  bo  so 


RECIPE   FOR   POTATO   PUDDING,  36^^ 

diimb,  Peggy?  Eun  right  up  and  take  her  into  the 
dj^wing-room.  Stop  «  you  need  n't ;  you  will  make 
some  other  mistake.    I  '11  go  myself." 

In  a  state  of  mind  not  to  be  envied,  Mrs.  Philpo 
hastened  to  the  nursery.  But  as  she  entertained 
faint  hope  that  the  conversation  below  had  not  peno 
txated  through  Mrs.  Darling's  bonnet,  she  endeavored 
to  hide  her  embarrassment  under  an  affable  smile,  ex- 
tended her  hand  gracefully,  and  drawled  out  a  genteel 
^-elcome  to  her  visitor. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Darling;  but  very 
sorry  you  should  have  been  brought  into  the  nursery'' 
— no  wonder  she 's  sorry,  thought  Mrs.  Darling — 
these  raw  Irish  girls  are  so  stupid !    Walk  into  the 
parlor,  if  you  please." 

Ko,  I  thank  jou,  Mrs.  Philpot,  I 'd  as  soon  sit 
here,"  returned  Mrs.  Darling.  "I  can  only  stay  a 
moment.  I  called  to  ask  for  a  recipe  for  potato  pud- 
ding. Mr.  Darling  tasted  one  when  he  dined  with 
Colonel  Philpot,  and  liked  it  so  much  that  he  wished 
me  to  get  directions'  for  making  it." 

"  Potato  pudding  ?  Ah,  yes,  I  recollect.  Mudlaw, 
my  cook,  does  make  a  very  good  plain  thing  that  she 
calls  a  potato  pudding ;  but  I  know  nothing  about  her 
manner  of  preparing  it.  I  will  call  her,  however,  and 
she  shall  tell  you  herself."  Thereupon  she  pulled  the 
bell,  and  Peggy  shortly  appeared,  looking  mora 
frightened  and  bewildered  than  ever, 

16* 


W'IDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEES. 


"  Send  Mudlaw  licre,"  said  Mrs.  Philpot. 

She  would  not  have  dared  to  address  her  "  chief 
cook  and  bottle-washer"  without  the  respectful  title  of 
ATrs. ;  but  it  was  rather  more  grand  to  omit  it,  and  she 
always  did  so  when  not  in  her  hearing. 

*'The  missus  said  I  was  to  send  you  there,"  said 
^eggy. 

"  Yoib  send  we/"  exclaimed  the  indignant  cook, 
guess  when  I  go  for  your  sending,  it  '11  be  after 
this." 

Mrs.  Philpot,  although  conversing  in  a  condescend- 
ing manner  with  Mrs.  Darling,  caught  something  of  the 
cook's  reply  to  her  summoDs,  and  asked  to  be  excused 
for  a  moment,  saying  that  Peggy  was  so  stupid,  she 
feared  that  Mudlaw  might  not  understand  her,  and 
she  would  go  herself  and  send  her.  So  she  hastened 
down  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  found  the  head  func- 
tionary standing  on  her  dignity. 

"Pretty  well,"  said  she,  ''if  I  am  to  be  ordered 
Tound  by  an  Irish  scullion  !" 

^'  Mrs.  Mudlaw,  step  here  a  moment,  if  you  please," 
said  Mrs.  Philpot  meekly,  opening  the  door  of  an  ad- 
joining room. 

The  offended  lady  vouchsafed  to  comply  with  the 
request,  and  with  a  stern  aspect,  entered  the  room 
with  Mrs.  Philpot.  The  latter  closed  the  door  for  fear 
of  being  heard  overhead,  and  began — 

"  What  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Mudlaw  ?    That  Mrs 


RECIPE   FOR   POTATO    PUDDING.  871 

Bailing  has  come  to  learn  how  to  make  potato  pud* 
ding,  and  you  '11  have  to  go  up  and  tell  her." 

"  I  sha'n't  do  it,  I  make  it  a  point  never  to  give 
my  recipes  to  nobody." 

"  I  know  it ;  and,  I 'm  sure  I  don't  blame  you. 
But,  in  this  case — -just  now — I  really  don't  see  how 
we  can  refuse." 

Well,  T  sha'n't  do  it,  and  that 's  the  hull  on 't." 

"  Oh,  do,  Mrs.  Mudlaw,  just  this  once.  The  colo- 
nel is  so  anxious  to  secure  Darling,  and  he  will  be  so 
angry  if  we  offend  them  in  any  way." 

"But  he  needent  know  it,  need  he?" 
He  certainly  will  find  it  out  by  some  means.  I 
know  it  is  real  vexatious  to  you,  and  I  would  n't  ask 
it  if  election  was  over ;  and  now 't  is  very  important 
— it  may  save  us  all  trouble.  The  colonel  is  so  de- 
cided you  know." 

These  last  words  of  Mrs.  Philpot  had  an  effect 
upon  Mudlaw  which  no  wish  or  entreaty  of  that  lady 
would  have  ever  produced,  for  they  suggested  to  her 
selfish  mind  the  possibility  of  a  dismissal  from  her 
snug  birth  at  Colonel  P.'s,  where  she  carried  it  with  a 
high  hand;  so  she  gave  in. 

"  "Well,  jest  to  please  you  and  the  curnel,  I  '11  do  it ; 
but  I  wish  'lection  was  over." 

Mrs.  Philpot  returned  to  the  nursery,  and  Mrs. 
Mudlaw  took  off  her  apron,  changed  her  cap  for  one 
trimmed  with  pink  ribbons  and  blue  roees,  gave  nu 


872 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PATERS. 


m&rous  orders  to  Peggy,  and  followed. .  She  Avas  a 
short,  fat  woman,  with  a  broad  red  face — such  a  per- 
son as  a  stranger  would  call  the  very  personification 
of  good  nature ;  though  I  have  never  found  fat  people 
to  be  any  more  amiable  than  lean  ones.  Certainly, 
Mrs.  Mudlaw  was  not  a  very  sweet  tempered  woman. 
On  this  occasion,  she  felt  rather  more  cross  than  usual, 
forced,  as  she  was,  to  give  one  of  her  recipes  to  a  no- 
body. She,  however,  knew  the  necessity  of  assuming 
a  pleasant  demeanor  at  that  time,  and  accordingly  en- 
tered the  nursery  with  an  encouraging  grm  on  her 
blazing  countenance.  Mrs.  Philpot,  fearing  lest  her 
cook's  familiarity  might  belittle  her  mistress  in  the 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Darling,  and  again  asking  to  be  excused 
for  a  short  time,  went  into  the  library,  a  nondescript 
appartment,  dignified  by  that  name,  which  communi- 
cated with  the  nursery.  The  moment  she  left  her  seat, 
a  large  rocking-chair,  Mudlaw  dumped  herself  down 
it,  exclaiming — 

Miss  Philpot  says  you  want  to  get  my  recipe  for 
potater  puddin'?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Darling.  "  I  would  be  obliged 
to  you  for  the  directions."  And  she  took  out  of  her 
pocket  a  pencil  and  paper  to  write  it  down. 

"Well,  'tis  an  excellent  puddin',"  said  Mudlaw, 
complacently ;  for  my  part,  I  like  it  about  as  well  as 
any  puddin'  I  make,  and  that 's  sayin'  a  good  deal,  1 
can  tell  you,  for  I  understand  makin'  a  great  variety. 


RECIPE   FOE    POTATO    PUDDING.  373 

'T  ain't  so  awful  rioli  as  some,  to  be  sure.  Kow, 
there 's  the  Cardinelle  puddin',  and  the  Washington 
puddin',  and  the  Lay  Fayette  puddin',  and  the — " 

^'  Yes.  Mr.  Darling  liked  it  very  much — how  do 
you  make  it?" 

"  Wal,  I  peel  my  potaters  and  bile  'em  in  fair  water. 
I  always  let  the  water  bile  before  I  put  'em  in.  Some 
folks  let  their  potaters  lie  and  sog  in  the  water  ever  so 
long,  before  it  biles;  but  I  think  it  spiles  'em.  I  al- 
ways make  it  a  pint  to  have  the  water  bile — " 

"  How  many  potatoes  ?" 
Wal,  I  always  take  about  as  many  potaters  as  I 
think  I  shall  want.  I 'm  generally  governed  by  tbe 
size  o'  the  puddin'  I  want  to  make.  If  it 's  a  large 
puddin',  why  I  take  quite  a  number,  but  if  it 's  a  small 
one,  why,  then  I  don't  take  as  many.  As  quick  as 
they  're  done,  I  take  'em  up  and  mash  'em  as  fine  as  I 
can  get  'em.  I 'm  always  very  partic'lar  about  that — 
some  folks  ain't ;  they  '11  let  their  potaters  be  full  o' 
lumps.  I  never  do ;  if  there 's  any  thing  I  hate,  it 's 
lumps  in  potaters.  I  wonH  have  'em.  Whether  I 'm 
mashin'  potaters  ibr  puddin's  or  for  vegetable  use,  I 
mash  it  till  there  ain't  the  size  of  a  lump  in  it.  If  I 
can't  git  it  fine  without  sifting,  why  I  sift  it.  Once  in 
a  while,  when  I 'm  otherways  engaged,  I  set  the  girl 
to  mashin'  on 't.  Wal,  she  '11  give  it  three  or  four 
jams,  and  come  along,  *  Miss  Mudlaw,  is  the  potater 
fine  enough  ?'    Jubiter  Ramrain  !  that 's  the  time  J 


S74:  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

come  as  near  gittin'  mad  as  I  ever  allow  myself  tc 
come,  for  I  make  it  a  pint  never  to  have  lumps — " 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  is  very  important.    What  next?" 

*'  Wal,  then  I  put  in  my  butter ;  in  winter  time  I 
melt  it  a  little,  not  enough  to  make  it  ily,  but  jest  so 's 
to  soften  it." 

"  How  much  butter  does  it  require  ?" 
Wal  I  always  take  butter  accordin'  to  the  size  of 
the  puddin' ;  a  large  puddin'  needs  a  good  sized  lump 
o'  butter,  but  not  too  much.  And  I 'm  always  partic'- 
lar  to  have  my  butter  fresh  and  sweet,  Some  folks 
think  it 's  no  matter  what  sort  o'  butter  they  use  for 
cookin',  but  /  don't.  Of  all  things,  I  do  despise  strong 
frowy,  rancid  butter.  For  pity's  sake  have  your  but- 
ter fresh." 

"How  much  butter  did  you  say?" 

"  Wal,  that  depends,  as  I  said  before,  on  what  sized 
puddin'  you  want  to  make.  And  another  thing  that 
regulates  the  quahty  of  butter  I  use  is  the  'mount  o' 
cream  I  take.  I  always  put  in  more  or  less  cream  ; 
when  I  have  abundance  o'  cream,  I  put  in  considerable 
and  when  it 's  scarce,  why,  I  use  more  butter  than  I 
otherways  should.  But  you  must  be  partic'lar  not  t<^ 
get  in  too  much  cream.  There 's  a  great  deal  in  hav 
in'  jest  the  right  quantity ;  and  so  'tis  with  all  the  in 
grejiences.  There  ain't  a  better  puddin'  in  the  worla 
than  a  potato  puddin',  when  it 's  made  rightj  but 't  ain  'fc 
every  body  that  makes  'era  right.    I  remember  when 


RECIFE   FOR  POTATO   PUDDING.  875 

I  lived  in  Tuckertown,  I  was  a  visitin'  to  Squire  Huni" 
prey's  one  time — I  went  in  the  first  company  in  Tuck- 
ertown— dear  me !  this  is  a  changeable  world.  Wal, 
they  had  what  they  called  a  potato  puddm'  for  dinner, 
Good  land  !  Of  all  the  puddins !  I  've  often  occur- 
ed  to-  that  puddin'  since,  and  wondered  what  the 
Squire's  wife  was  a  thinkin'  of  when  she  made  it.  I 
wa  'n  t  obleeged  to  do  no  such  things  in  them  days, 
and  dident  know  how  to  do  any  thing  as  well  as  I  do 
now.  Necessity 's  the  mother  of  invention.  Experi- 
ence is  the  best  teacher,  after  all — " 
"  Do  you  sweeten  it  ?" 

*^  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure  it  needs  sugar,  the  best  o' 
sugar,  too ;  not  this  wet,  soggy,  brown  sugar.  Somb 
folks  never  think  o'  usin'  good  sugar  to  cook  with,  but 
for  my  part  I  won't  have  no  other." 
How  much  sugar  do  you  take  ?" 

"  Wal,  that  depends  altogether  on  whether  you  cal 
culate  to  have  s£l!ss  for  it — some  like  sass,  you  know, 
and  then  some  agin  don't.  So,  when  I  calculate  for 
sass,  I  don't  take  so  much  sugar ;  and  when  I  don  t 
calculate  for  sass,  I  make  it  sweet  enough  to  eat  with- 
out sass.  Poor  Mr.  Mudlaw  was  a  great  hand  for 
puddin'sass.  I  always  made  it  for  him — gopd,  rich 
^3  too.  I  could  afford  to  have  things  rich  before  ho 
was  unfortinate  in  bizness."  (Mudlaw  went  to  State's 
prison  for  horse-stealing.)  "  I  like  sass  myself,  too ; 
and  the  curnel  and  the  children  are  all  great  sasa 


376 


WI.'OW   BEDOTT  PAPERS 


hands ;  and  so  I  generally  calculate  for  sass,  though 
Miss  Philpot  prefers  the  puddin'  without  sass,  and  per- 
haps you  prefer  it  without.  If  so  you  must  put  in 
sugar  accordingly.  I  always  make  it  a  pint  to  have 
'em  sweet  enough  when  they  're  to  be  eat  without 
sass." 

And  don't  you  use  eggs?" 
"Certainly,  eggs  is  one  o'  the  principal  ingreji- 
ences." 

"  How  many  does  it  require  ?" 

"  Wal,  when  eggs  is  plenty,  I  always  use  plenty ; 
and  when  they  're  scarce,  why  I  can  do  with  less, 
though  I 'd  ruther  have  enough ;  and  be  sure  and  beat 
'em  well.  It  does  distress  me,  the  way  some  folks 
beat  eggs.  I  al<*ays  want  to  have  'em  thoroughly 
beat  for  every  thing  I  use  'em  in.  It  tries  my  patience 
most  awfully  to  have  any  body  round  me  that  won't 
beat  eggs  enough.  A  spell  ago  we  had  a  darkey  to 
help  in  the  kitchen.  One  day  u  was  a  makin'  sponge 
cake,  and  havin'  occasion  to  go  up  stairs  after  some* 
thing,  I  sot  her  to  beatin'  the  eggs.  Wal,  what  do 
you  think  the  critter  done  ?  Why,  she  whisked  'em 
round  a  few  times,  and  turned  'em  right  onto  the 
other  ingrejiences  that  I 'd  got  weighed  out.  When  I 
come  back  and  saw  what  she 'd  done,  my  gracious !  I 
came  as  nigh  to  losin'  my  temper  as  I  ever  allow  my- 
self to  come.  'T  was  awful  provokin'!  I  always 
want  the  kitchen  help  to  do  things  as  I  want  to  have 


RECIPE   FOR   POTATO   PUDDING.  877 

*'em  done.  But  I  never  saw  a  darkey  yet  that  evei 
done  any  thing  right.  They  're  a  lazy  slaughterin' 
set.  To  think  o'  her  spilin'  that  cake  so,  when  I 'd 
told  her  over  and  over  agin  that  I  always  made  it  a 
pint  to  have  my  eggs  thoroughly  beat ! " 

Yes,  it  was  too  bad.  Do  you  use  fruit  in  the  pud- 
ding?" 

Wal,  that 's  jest  as  you  please.  You 'd  better  be 
governed  by  your  own  judgment  as  to  that.  Some 
like  currants  and  some  like  raisins,  and  then  agin  some 
don't  like  nary  one.  If  you  use  raisins^  for  pity's 
sake  pick  out  the  stuns.  It 's  awful  to  have  a  body's 
teeth  come  grindin'  onto  a  raisin  stun.  I 'd  rather 
have  my  ears  boxt  any  time." 

How  many  raisins  must  I  take  ?" 
"  "Wal  not  too  many — it 's  apt  to  make  the  puddin' 
heavy,  you  know ;  and  when  it 's  heavy  it  ain't  so 
light  and  good.    I 'm  a  great  hand — " 

Yes,  what  do  you  use  for  flavoring  ?" 

There  agin  you  '11  have  to  exercise  your  own 
judgment.  Some  likes  one  thing,  and  some  another, 
you  know.  If  you  go  the  whole  figger  on  temperance, 
why  some  other  kind  o'  flavyrin'  '11  do  as  well  as  wine 
or  brandy,  I  s'pose.  But  whatever  you  make  up  youi 
mind  to  use,  be  partic'lar  to  git  in  a  sufEciency,  or 
else  your  puddin'  '11  be  flat.  I  always  make  it  a 
pmt~"  ^  . 

"  How  long  must  it  bake  ?" 


378  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  There the  great  thing  after  all.  The  dAil  j  the 
main  pint.  A  potater  pudding  of  all  puddins,  has  got 
to  be  baked  jest  right.  For  if  it  bakes  a  leetle  too 
much,  it 's  apt  to  dry  it  up ;  and  then  agm  if  it  don't 
bake  quite  enougli,  it's  sure  to  taste  potatery — and 
that  spiles  it,  you  know." 

"  How  long  shouJd  you  think  ?" 

"  Wal,  that  depends  a  good  deal  on  the  heat  o'  your 
oven.  If  you  have  a  very  hot  oven,  't  won't  do  to 
leave  it  in  too  long ;  and  if  your  oven  ain't  so  very 
hot,  why,  you  '11  be  necessiated  to  leave  it  in  longer." 

"  Well,  how  can  I  tell  any  thing  about  it?" 

"  Well,  I  always  let  them  bake  till  I  think  they  're 
done — that 's  the  safest  way.  I  make  it  a  pint  to  have 
'em  baked  exactly  right.  It 's  very  important  in  all 
kinds  o'  bakin' — cake,  pies,  bread,  puddins,  and 
every  thing — to  have  'em  baked  precisely  long  enough 
and  jest  right.  Some  folks  don't  seem  to  have  no  sys- 
tem at  all  about  their  bakin'.  One  time  they  '11  burn 
their  bread  to  a  crisp,  and  then  agin  it  '11  be  so  slack 
't  ain't  fit  to  eat.  Nothin'  hurts  my  feelins  so  much 
as  to  see  things  overdone  or  slack-baked.  Here  only 
t'other  day,  Lorry,  the  girl  that  Miss  Philpot  dis- 
missed yesterday,  come  within  an  ace  o'  letting  my 
bread  burn  up.  My  back  ^Yas  turned  for  a  minnit, 
and  what  should  she  do  but  go  to  stuffin'  wood  into  the 
stove  at  the  awfullest  rate?  If  I  hadent  a  found  it 
out  jest  when  I  did,  my  bre-al  would  a  ben  spilt  aa 


RECIPE   FOR   POTATO   PUDDING.  879 


6ure  as  J  m  a  live  womau.  Jiibiter  Eammin !  I  was 
about  ar  rLuch  decomposed  as  I  ever  allow  m3-self  to 
git  1  I  tcld  Miss  Philpot  I  wouldent  stan'  it  no  longer 
— one  of  us  must  quit — either  Lorrv  or  me  must 
-valk.'* 

So  jou 've  no  rule  about  baking  this  pudding?" 
"  No  rule !"  said  Mudlaw,  with  a  lock  of  intense 
surprise. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Darling,  "  you  seem  to  have  no 
rule  for  any  thing  about  it." 

"JSTorule!"  screamed  the  indignant  cook,  starting 
up,  while  her  red  face  grew  ten  times  redder,  and  her 
little  black  eyes  snapped  with  rage.  *'  No  rules !"  and 
she  planted  herself  in  front  of  Mrs.*  Darling,  erecting 
her  fleshy  figure  to  its  full  hight  of  majestic  dumpi- 
ness, and  extending  the  forefinger  of  her  right  hand 
till  it  reached  an  alarming  propinquity  to  that  lady's 
nose  "  No  rules !  do  you  tell  me  I 've  no  rules !  Me  I 
that 's  cooked  in  the  first  families  for  fifteen  years,  and 
always  gi'n  satisfaction,  to  be  told  by  such  as  you  that 
I  hain't  no  rules  1" 

Thus  far  had  Mudlaw  proceeded,  and  I  know  not 

what  length  she  would  have  "  allowed  herself"  to 
go,  had  not  the  sudden  entrance  of  Colonel  Philpot 
interrupted  her  He  being  a  person  of  whom  she 
stood  somewhat  in  awe,  particularly  ''jest  at  this  time," 
she  broke  off  in  the  midst  of  her  tirade,  and,  casting  a 
look  of  ineffable  disgust  at  Mrs.  Darling,  retreated  to 


880 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


her  own  dominions  to  vent  her  fury  upon  poor  Pegg/, 
who  had  done  every  thing  wrong  during  her  al>« 
sence. 

While  Colonel  Philpot  was  expressing  his  extreme 
satisfaction  at  seeing  Mrs.  Darling,  Mrs.  Philpot 
emerged  from  the  library,  where  she  had  been  shak- 
ing  in  her  shoes  during  the  interview  between  that 
lady  and  Mudlaw. 

"  Matilda,  my  dear,"  said  the  colonel,  "  this  is  quite 
an  unexpected  pleasure,  for  really  Mrs.  Darling,  we 
began  to  fear  that  you  did  not  intend  to  cultivate 
us." 

"I  did  not  come  for  that  purpose,"  replied  Mrs.  Dar- 
ling, who,  now  that  she  saw  through  Colonel  Philpot, 
despised  him  thoroughly,  and  was  not  afraid  to  let 
him  know  it,  notwithstanding  he -belonged  to  the  aris- 
tocracy of  our  town.  "  I  came  on  an  errand,  and 
your  cook  has  got  very  angry  with  me  for  some  reason, 
I  scarcely  know  what." 

"Poor  Mudlaw,"  said  Mrs.  Philpot,  anxiouE  to 
screen  her  main  stay  from  the  colonel's  displeasurq, 
yet  feeling  the  necessity  of  some  apology  to  Mrs.  .Jar- 
ling.  ^'  Poor  Mudlaw !  I  don't  think  she  intended  to 
be  rude." 

"  What !  has  the  cook  been  rude  to  Mrs.  Darling?" 
exclaimed  Colonel  Philpot. 

"Not  rude,  exactly,  dear;  but  you  know  sh,^  is  so 
sensitive  about  every  thing  connected  with  her  depart* 


RECIPE   FOR   POTATO   PUDDII^G.  881 

mcnt,  and  she  fancied  that  Mrs.  Darling  called  her 
sKill  into  question,  and  became  somewhat  excited." 

Quite  excited,  I  should  c^U  it,"  said  Mrs.  D.  with 
a  smile. 

And  she  has  dared  to  treat  Mrs.  Darling  rudely," 
caid  Colonel  P.,  apparently  much  agitated.  Shame- 
ful I  disgraceful!  the  wretch  shall  suffer  for  it!'  To 
think  that  a  lady  hke  Mrs.  Darling  should  be  insulted 
by  a  coohl  in  my  house,  too  I" 

"  And  just  before  election^  too ;  it  is  a  pity !"  said 
Mrs  Darling  quietly,  as  she  rose,  and  wishing  them 
good-morning,  departed,  leaving  Colonel  Philpot  lost 
in  astonishment.  Her  last  remark  rendered  necessary 
some  explanation  from  Mrs.  P.  She  was  compelled 
to  repeat  some  part  of  the  conversation  that  had  taken 
place  in  the  kitchen,  which,  though  softened  down  an 
much  as  possible,  was  sufficient  to  rouse  the  coloneFs 
indignation  to  the  highest  pitch,  for  he  saw  at  once 
that  Darling  was  lost.  He  gave  his  silly  wife  a  hearty 
blowing  up,  but  upon  Mudlaw,  his  wrath  fell  heaviest. 
No  entreaties  of  her  mistress  could  save  her ;  she  was 
commanded  to  quit  the  premises,  to  troop  fortliwitli 
"  for  being  rude  to  visitors."  But  Mudlaw  knew  well 
enough  the  real  reason  of  her  dismissal,  and  when 
rihe  went  forth  in  rage  and  sorrow,  she  found  some 
consolation  in  spreading  it  far  and  wide,  thereby  mak- 
ing Colonel  Philpot  very  ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  the 
community. 


382 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


Well,  I 'm  surprised,  Hester,"  said  John  Darling, 
after  his  wife  had  given  him  a  circumstantial  account 
of  her  visit.  And  I 'm  right  sorry,  too,  to  have  my 
good  opinion  of  a  man  knocked  in  the  head  so,  for  I 
did  think  well  of  Col.  Philpot.  I  really  believed  we 
could  n't  send  a  better  man  to  Congress.  But  it  won't 
do.  A  man  that  can  stoop  to  such  conduct  is  n't  fit 
to  go  there.  I  can't  vote  for  him,  and  my  influence, 
what  little  I  have,  must  go  against  him.  If  he  gets 
there,  it  must  be  without  any  help  from  John  Dar- 
ling." 

Colonel  Philpot  did  not  go  to  Congress,  and  what 
3iade  his  defeat  the  more  aggravating  was  the  fact  that 
his  opponent  was  elected  by  the  small  majority  of 
bhree  votes.  And  so  Colonel  Philpot  lost  his  elec- 
tion ;  and  Mrs.  Philpot  lost  her  cook  ;  and  Mr,  Darling 
lest  his  esteem  for  Colonel  Philpot,  and  all  through 
the  over-politeness  of  the  latter. 

And  was  there  nothing  gained?  Oh,  yes;  Mrs. 
Darling  gained  something.  Not  much  information  in 
regard  to  the  potato  pudding,  certainly;  but  she 
gained  some  knowledge  of  the  internal  arrangements 
of  Mrs.  Philpot's  household,  which  proved  of  great 
service  to  her,  for  she  confesses  to  John  that  she  was 
never  so  contented  with  her  own  home  and  her  own 
husband  as  she  has  been  since  she  made  that  memora- 
ble call  at  Colonel  Philpot's. 


XXX. 


Itonting  Calls ;  wr.  (Bkx^  'Umiimht 


"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Shaw  I" 
"  I 'm  well  aware  that  I  don't  owe  any  call  here, 
but  I  told  Mr.  Shaw  that  the  morning  was  so  fine,  I 'd 
just  step  in  and  see  whether  jdu  were  all  alivej  for 
really  it  seems  an  age  since  I  saw  any  of  you — ^you 've 
not  been  at  all  neighborly  of  late." 

"  1  know  it,  Mrs.  Shaw,  but  you  must  excuse  us, 
for  grandmother  has  been  bo  feeble  for  some  weeks 
past  that  we  have  not  been  able  to  leaye — mother  is 
with  her  now  and  desires  to  be  excused." 

"  Certainly ;  she  is  .yery  excusable.  I  was  not 
aware  that  your  grandmother  was  sick — I 'm  excess- 
iyely  sorry  to  hear  it — should  assuredly  haye  been 
round  to  see  her  before  had  I  been  aware  of  her  ill- 
ness. I  do  think  so  much  of  your  grandmother — she 
is  certainly  the  sweetest  old  lady  that  I  eyer  knew.  I 
tell  Mr.  Shaw  she  reminds  me  so  much  of  my  own 
dear  dead  mother — has  the  same  dignified  manner  and 
beneyolent  countenance  that  she  had    And  her  char 


OOD  morning.  Miss  Mary  ! 


884 


*VIDOW   BLiyOTT  PAPERS. 


actcr  is  very  mucb  like  my  motlier's,  too,  always  doingj 
good  among  the  poor  and  sick.  I  regret  excessively 
that  I  was  not  aware  of  her  illness — should  certainly 
have  been  round,  though  my  own  health  has  been 
very  precarious — in  fact,  it  always  is — I  g6  out  very 
little — none  at  all  excepting  among  my  particular 
friends.  I  do  hope  your  grandma  '11  be  spared — we 
could  nU  part  with  her  any  way — there  are  so  few  like 
her  on  earth — and  the  poet  says  "  Heaven  is  overflow- 
ing." Ah '!  I  see  you  have  Dickens'  last  here — I  sup- 
pose it 's  excessively  interesting." 

"  No — I  think  it 's  hardly  worth  reading." 

'Indeed!  well;  of  course  I  shall  not  read.it  if  you 
condemn  it — you  are  such  an  excellent  judge  cf  liter- 
ature, and  such  a  reader — your  own  pro  due  dons,  too, 
are  exquisite — Mr.  Shaw  is  perfectly  charmed  with 
them.  "What  a  beauty  your  japon^ca  is,  I  noticed  it 
last  evening  in  passing.  Ah  !  that  reminds  me  the}' 
tell  stories  about  you,  Mary." 

"  Indeed !  Trhat  do  iJ-tey  say^atout  me,  pray?" 
0,  they  say  you  'rc  going  to  be  married." 

"  The  deuco  I  am !    To  w^hom  /ire  they  going 
marry  me  ?" 

"My  stars!  I  protest  you  counterfe'i  astonishjaent 
to  perfection.  Of^-course  the  favored  one  is  George 
Garter — and  I  assure  you,  Mary,  you're  quite  the 
envy  of  aU  the  girls  for  snapping  him  up  so  soon  after 
his  return  from  Europe." 


MOKNING  .CALLS. 


385 


*  You  STlrprise  me  Mrs.  Shaw.  I  Ve  seen  very  lit- 
tle of  George  Carter  since  he  came  home." 

"Ah,  do  you  think  I  shall  believe  you  when  ap* 
pearances  are  so  very  strong  against  you  ?  Did  n't  I 
see  somebody's  curly  dog  lying  on  somebody's  piazza 
last  evening?" 

"  And  seeing  a  puppy  outside  ot  the  door,  it  was 
very  natural  for  you  to  infer  that  there  was  another  one 
inside^ 

Mary,  what  a  creature  you  are!  You  have 
3uch  a  ready  wit.  Mr.  Shaw  says  he  never  knew 
your  equal  in  that  respect — he  does  admire  wit  in  a 
lady,  excessively.  But  I  '11  not  detain  you — give  my 
love  to  your  ma,  and  your  grandma,  too — and  tell  her 
how  deeply  interested  I  feel  in  her — I  do  hope  she  '11 
recover.  And  do  you  and  your  ma  come  round  and 
see  us  as  soon  as  you  can.  Serapheen  and  I  think  so 
much  of  seeing  our  friends — your  ma  and  you  particu- 
larly— and  we  're  zo  lonely  since  Angeleen  went  to 
New  York" 

"  Have  you  heard  from  Angeleen  lately  ?" 
Yes,  \ye  received  a  letter  yesterday.  She  says, 
give  my  love  to  all  the  girls,  but  particularly  to  Mary 
Barber.  Angel  does  think  so  much  of  you.  (Miss 
Barber  bows.)  She 's  enjoying  herself  excessively — 
sees  a  great  deal  of  company.  You  know  how  it  ia 
in  the  city,  Mary— you 've  spent  so  much  time  there 

17 


886  WIDOW   BEBGTT  PAPERS. 

She  says  she  dreads  coming  back  to  this  dull  place  ex- 
cessively." 

"Well  then  I  hope  she'll  snap  up  somebody  in  the 
city,  and  not  be  compelled  to  come  back  here." 

"  What  a  quiz  you  are,  Mary  !  but  I  must  go — give 
my  love  to  your  ma,  and  do  come  round  when  you 
can.    Good  morning." 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Shaw." 

Her  next  call  is  at  Dr.  More's.  • 

"  Good  morning,  Caroline.    Is  your  ma  at  home  T' 

"She  is.  She's  engaged  jest  now  in  the  kitchen, 
but  she  '11  be  in  shortly." 

"  Now  don't  let  me  hinder  you  if  your  engaged 
about  any  thing— just  take  me  right  in  where  you  're 
at  work." 

"Well,  then,  walk  into  the  sitting-room,  if  you 
please — Charlotte  and  I  are  sewing  there." 

"  Good  morning,  Charlotte !  Dress-making,  eh  ?  Is 
that  for  you  or  Caroline?" 

"  For  me — ^but  Caroline  has  one  like  it.  Do  you 
think  it  pretty  ?" 

"I  do  so.  Those  large  plaids  are  excessively  be- 
coming to  a  tall  slender  person  like  you  and  Caroline 
— but  Mary  Barber  looks  wretchedly  in  them — she 's 
so  short  and  so  thick.  I  was  just  in  there — she  had 
on  a  plaid,  the  squares,  without  exaggeration,  as  large 
as  my  two  hands — it  was  blue,  too,  and  you  know 
she  is  so  dark." 


3t  C  Pw  2T  I  IT  G  CALLS. 


887 


"  I  should  think  it  would  be  unbecoming  to  her — 
but  Mary  cares  very  liftb  for  dress,  I  think." 

*'She  does  so — an  unpardonable  fault  in  a  young 
lady,  in  my  opinion.  Mr.  Shaw  thinks  a  young  lady 
should  be  always  neatly  and  becomingly  dressed.  He 
was  speaking  of  it  the  other  day,  and  contrasting  your 
two  girls  with  Mary  Barber.  '  But/  said  he,  '  Mary 
might  be  ever  so  well  dressed  and  she  would  n't  look 
any  how  with  such  a  form  as  she  has,'  You  were 
passing  our  house  at  the  time— said  he,  *  there 's  a 
couple  of  the  finest  forms  in  Greenville.'  Mr.  Shaw 
does  admire  a  fine  form  in  a  lady  excessively.  But 
Mary 's  so  busy  writing  those  nonsensical  stories  and 
stuff  that  she  has  no  time  to  think  of  her  personal  ap- 
pearance. Did  you  ever  read  any  thing  so  flat? 
What  a  pity  that  she  so  mistakes  her  talent.  Mr. 
Shaw  laughs  about  it — he  does  dislike  a  blue  stocking 
excessively.  And,  Caroline,  don't  you  think  Mary  is 
very  unrefined  in  her  conversation  ?" 

"I  think  she 's  rather  abrupt,  sometimes." 

"  Abrupt  1  my  stars !  I  tell  Mr.  Shaw  that  what  she 
intends  for  wit,  I  call  essential  vulgarity ;  and  Mr. 
Shaw  agrees  with  me — he  does  dislike  such  things  in 
a  young  lady,  excessively.  I  think  she 's  rather  cen- 
sorious too — for  instance  she  pronounced  George  Car- 
ter a  puppy — at  which  I  confess  I  am  astonished." 

Well,  I 'm  astonished  too — for  I  think  George  Car- 
ter a  fine  fellow." 


388 


WIDOW   BEDOTT   PA  PEES. 


"He  IS  SO,  Charlotte.  Serapheen  tliinks  Mm  deci- 
dedly elegant ;  and  yoa  know  slie 's  competent  to  give 
an  opinion — ^liaving  passed  two  winters  in  New  York, 
wHere  she  saw  a  great  deal  of  gentlemen's  society.  T 
Y^as  excessh'ely  sorry  to  hear  Mary  speak  so ;  but  I 
hope  yon  won't  repeat  it ;  ^it  least  don't  mention  it  as 
coming  from  me.  I  merely  alluded  to  it  because  I 
felt  so  indignant  at  the  remark." 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Shaw." 
Good  morning,  Mrs.  More ;  how 's  your  health  ?" 

"Yery  good,  indeed — are  you  well,  Mrs.  Shaw?" 
Oh.  no,  Mrs.  More.  I 'm  miserable ;  indeed  I 
ought  to  be  at  home  and  in  bed  no^v  ;  but  I  told  Mr. 
Shaw  that  the  morning  was  so  fine,  I  must  come  round 
to  sec  you.  I  don't  pretend  to  call  except  upon  my 
particular  friends.  Mr.  Shaw  often  tells  me  I  make  a 
complete  hermit  of  myself — I  hope  I 'm  not  hindering 
you  thiis  'morning,  Mrs.  More,." 

Oh,  not  at  all — you  mus^  excuse  me  for  not  com- 
ing in  sooner.  I  was  jusb  baking  and  couldn't,  well 
leave  rny  bread." 

Just  80 — ^you  're  very  excusable — you  do  your  own 
work,  Mrs.  More,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,  our  family  is  small — only  Dr.  More  and  us 
three— and  since  the  girls  were  old  enough  to  he"'p 
die,  I 've  preferred  doing  without  servants." 

"  "Well  now — vv'hat  u  grand  thiag  that  is !  I  tell 
Mr.  Shaw  I  should  be  co  deliglitod  if  I  could  got  along 


MORNING  CALLS. 


889 


without  servants — they  are  sm  h  a  plague  I  but  situated 
as  we  are,  it  would  be  utterly  impossible.  The  girls 
are  very  industrious — I  Ve  instructed  them  in  that  re- 
spect— but  they  are  away  so  much  ;  our  relatives  in 
the  city  insist  upon  having  one  of  them  there  most  of 
the  time ;  and  my  health  is  so  precarious  that  I  can 
do  very  little.  And  then,  when  the  girls  are  at  home, 
they  are  necessarily  so  much  occupied  with  their  com- 
pany and  music.  Yow  daughters  are  not  musicians^ 
I  believe,  Mrs.  More  ?" 

"No — they  have  never  shown  any  fondness  for 
music — at  least  no  decided  talent  for  it ;  and  their 
father  thought  it  would  be  a  useless  expense  to  have 
them  take  lessons." 

"  It  would  so  J  Mrs.  More — Mr.  Shaw  and  myself 
would  never  have  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  having 
Angeleen  and  Serapheen  learn  music,  if  they  had  not 
shown  such  an  extraordinary  talent  for  it,  from  their 
very  infancy.  It 's  utter  nonsense  for  children  to 
study  any  thing  they  have  n't  a  taste  for,  especially 
music.    I  think  you  acted  very  judiciously." 

''Have  you  heard  from  Angeleen,  lately?" 

''Yes,  Caroline — I  had  a  letter  from  her  yesterday. 
She  is  passing  her  time  very  pleasantly  at  her  uncle's 
— but  she  says  she  does  want  to  see  her  pa  and  ma  and 
sis,  and  you  and  Charlotte  very  much  indeed.  She 
says,  '  give  my  love  to  all  the  girls,  but  'particularly  to 
Caroline  and  Charlotte  More.'    Ang.el  does  think  so 


390 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEPwS. 


much  of  her  friends — especially  jour  two  girls.  See- 
ing jou  making  a  sleeve,  Charlotte,  reminds  me  that 
she  speaks  of  the  fashions.  She  says  they  're  wearing 
that  kind  of  sleeve  now  very  much.  'Who  cuts  your 
dresses,  Lotty  ?  they  always  lit  beautifully." 
We  cut  them  ourselves." 

My  stars !  you  amaze  me  I  why  Mrs.  More,  I  won- 
der if  there 's  any  thing  under  the  sun  that  your  girls 
can't  do." 

Yes — they  can't  play  on  the  piano.  I  had  them 
learn  to  cut  and  fit  of  Miss  Curtis,  before  shs  went 
away — and  ever  since  they  have  made  all  our  dresses." 

"My  stars t  If  that  isn't  a  grand  idea.  You  are 
Buch  a  capital  manager,  Mrs.  More.  Mr.  Shaw  oftea 
remarks  that  Dr.  More's  family  is  a  model  for  its  ad- 
mirable management — and  it  is  sck  It  seems  to  me  I 
should  be  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world  if  I  could 
be  independent  of  hired  girls  and  mantua-makers.  I  ' 
tell  Mr.  Shaw  they  're  the  plague  of  my  life.  Oh,  if 
my  girls  could  make  their  own  dresses  and  have  them 
fit  as  exquisitely  as  Carry's  and  Lotty's  do,  I  should  be 
rejoiced.  How  dreadfully  Mary  Barber's  dresses 
haiig  on  her.  By  the  way,  Mrs.  More,  did  you  know 
that  old  Mrs.  Barber  is  quite  sick?" 

"  Oh,  3^es,  she 's  been  sick  some  time." 

"  Is  Dr.  More  her  physician  ?" 

*•  ISTo — they  employ  Dr.  Smith,  I  believe." 

■*My  stars!  you  amaze  me,  Mrs.  Morel  that  misei* 


MORNING  CALLS. 


391 


able  homoepatbist !  Astonishing  that  people  will  be 
such  fools  I  to  think  of  their  trusting  her  in  his  hands, 
when  there 's  such  a  skillful  physician  as  Dr.  More 
close  by ;  why  I  have  n't  the  least  confidence  in  that 
kind  of  practice — and  Dr.  More  enjoys  such  a  reputa- 
tion too  I  Llr.  Shaw  says  that  if  Dr.  Billings  had  n't 
been  our  family  physician  before  Dr.  More  came  here 
he  should  certainly  liave  employed  Dr.  More.  How- 
ever, Mrs.  More,  between  you  and  me,  I  presume  Dr. 
More  has  escaped  an  undesirable  job.  I  should  think 
old  Mrs.  Barber  would  be  an  excessively  disagreeabh 
patient.  She  is  so  very  repulsive  v/hen  she 's  well. 
Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  she 's  rather  reserveol-  - 
though  I  like  her." 

"  Eeserved !  my  stars !  she 's  as  cold  as  an  icicle — 
I  don't  see  how  you  can  like  her,  especially  when  she 
has  treated  Dr.  More  so  shabbily." 

"I  did  feel  rather  hurt  that  they  discharged  Dr. 
More ;  but  they  were  urged  by  some  of  their  friends 
to  try  the  homoeopathic  system.  It 's  not  from  any 
want  of  confidence  in  Dr.  More — they  are  very  friend- 
ly to  him — and  I  dare  say  they  '11  employ  him  again, 
at  some  future  time,  if  they  're  not  satisfied  with  Dr. 
Smith's  practice." 

Well}  I  hope  that  Dr.  More  will  decline  attending 
them ;  he  certainly  ought  to  do  so.  I  went  in  there 
this  morning  from  a  sense  of  duty.    I  never  call  upon 


392 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


any  but  my  pardcular  friends,  excepc  1 1  :ase  of  uick* 
ne25 ;  and  tlie  Barbers  are  such  a  queer  :';imilj.  I 
never  knew  what  to  make  of  them.  But  T  must  go .; 
.1  a.lwajs  stay  so  loDg  when  I  come  here.  I  tell  Mr. 
Shaw  I  never  know  when  to  get  away  from  Dr. 
M"ore'&.  I  do  think  so  much  of  your  family.  Now 
do  come  round  Mrs.  More ;  you  never  come — .ind  tho 
girls  are  not  sociable  at  all ;  do  come.  Seraph,  and  I 
are  sa  lonely,  etc.  etc." — (Imagine  the  rest). 

Ehe  next  proceeds  to  Dr.  Smith's. 
Good  morning,  Mrs.  Smith." 

"  Grood  morning,  Mrs.  Shaw ;  you  look  fatigued ; 
take  the  rocking-chair — do." 

Thank  you,  Mrs.  Smith,  I  y^ill,  for  T  cm  q^iit*) 
weary;  have  made  several  caJls  this  morning;  calls 
are  an  awful  bore  to  me  in  m}'  state  of  health,  except 
when  I  go  to  see  my  particular  friends." 

"  Sure — is  your  health  not  good,  Mrs.  Shavr  ?" 

"It's  miserable,  Mrs.  Smith — miserable.  I  really 
ought  to  be  at  home  and  in  bed  now,  but  I  told  Mr. 
Shaw  that  the  morning  was  so  fine^  I  must  get  round 
and  see  Mrs.  Smith.  I 've  so  long  been  wishing  to 
come.  Mr.  Shaw  thought  I  was  rather  imprudent  to 
walk  so  far ;  but  I  told  him  I  would  stop  and  res*; 
several  times  on  the  way.  I  would  n't  attempt  to  take 
such  a  walk  except  to  see  a  very  particular  friend^ 
which  I  hope  I  may  call  you,  Mrs.  Smith." 


MORNING  CALLS. 


893 


"  Certainlj,  Mrs.  Shaw — ^you  do  me  mucL  honor. 
I  hope  yoa  will  not  be  the  worse  for  the  exsrtion. 
Have  you  been  long  an  invahd?" 

I  have  so ;  my  health  ha^  been  very  precarious 
for  some  years.  0,  Mrs.  Smith,  you  can  hot  imagine 
how  excessively  tired  I 've  become  of  taking  such 
quantities  of  medicine  as  the  old-fashioned  doctors 
give.  I  tell  Mr.  Shaw  the  very  sight  of  it  disgusts  me." 

"Sure." 

"  I 've  heard  so  much  of  Dr.  Smith's  astonishing 
success  in  his  practice,  that  I  should  n't  hesitate  a  mo- 
'  ment  tc  place  myself  under  his  care,  and  go  through 
a  course  of  homoepathic  treatment,  if  it  were  not  for 
fear  of  offending  old  Dr.  Billings,  who  has  alwa3^s 
been  our  family  physician;  and  we  are  fearful  he 
might  feel  hurt,  you  know." 

Sure — ^but  I  do  not  think  he  would  be.  Dr.  Smith 
has  one  of  Dr.  Morels  patients,  Mrs.  Barber,  under  his 
care ;  and  Dr.  More  does  n't  appear  to  be  at  all  dis- 
pleased about  it." 

"  I  think  you  're  mistaken,  Mrs.  Smith,  for  I 've 
heard  Mrs.  More  speak  of  it  with  considerable  bitter- 
ness. She  said  her  feelings  were  very  much  hurt  at 
the  Barbers'  discharging  her  husband.  Though  she 
lemarked  that  she  felt  confident  they  would  become 
dissatisfied  with  Dr.  Smith,  and  send  for  Dr.  More 
ngain." 

Well,  I  declare  I    I  '11  tell  the  doctor  of  that— 
17* 


S94 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPEKS. 


it 's  the  first  time  I ' vo  lieard  of  any  one's  speaking 
against  my  husband's  practice." 

"  You  know,  Mrs.  Smith,  Dr.  More  is  a  very  penu- 
rious man,  and  of  course  would  not  like  to  have  a  rich 
patient  slip  through  his  fingers." 

"  Is  he  a  close  man  ?    I  did  n't  know  it  before." 

"  He  is  so — are  you  acquainted  with  the  family  ?" 

"  No — Mrs.  More  has  never  called  on  me." 

"  Well,  that 's  not  strange — it  costs  something  you 
know  to  keep  up  an  acquaintance." 

"  I  thought  they  were  quite  a  genteel  family." 
Genteel ! — my  stars!  they  are  excessively  plain." 
I 'm  sure  the  daughters  dress  in  good  style." 
I 'm  aware  of  that,  Mrs.  Smith ;  but  they  pinch 
and  save  in  every  other  way." 

"  Sure !— how  you  talk !" 

"  They  keep  no  servants  at  all,  though  Dr.  More  is 
abundantly. able ;  there  are  few  richer  men  in  Green- 
ville. Mrs.  More  works  like  a  slave — and  so  do  the 
girls." 

"  Sure  I — ^how  you  talk,  Mrs.  Shaw !" 

"  I  tell  Mr.  Shaw  I  do  really  pity  those  poor  girls ; 
notwithstanding  the  doctors'  ample  means,  he  has 
never  given  them  the  advantage  of  a  genteel  eonca- 
tion." 

"  Sure  I    You  don't  say  so,  Mrs.  Shaw  !" 
"Just  50,  Mrs.  Smith — they've  not  even  'earnt 
music !" 


MORNING  CALLS.. 


^95 


"Mercy  on  us!" 

"  But  they  Ve  taken  lessons  in  ,  what  do  you 

ihink? — -just  guess^  Mrs.  Smith." 

"  Well,  I 'm  sure  I  can't  tell — is  it  drawing?" 

"Drawing!  My  stars!  You'd  never  guess  till 
/•our  dying  day — dress-making !  I" 

Mercy  on  us !  he,  he,  he,  he,  he  I  how  Ann  Eliza 
vould  laugh  to  hear  that.    It 's  the  last  thing  I  ever 
s  hould  have  thought  of." 

"Why,  Mr.  Shaw  says  he'd  do  anything  in  the 
world  before  he 'd  let  me  and  the  girls  work  as  they 
do.  He  says  if  it  took  his  last  sixpence,  Angel  and 
Seraph  should  learn  music." 

"  Sure — I  should  n't  think  Ann  Eliza  fit  for  genteel 
society,  unless  she  could  play  on  the  piano — how  1 
should  feel  if  her  pa  should  want  her  to  make  her  own 
di  esses." 

"  You  would  50,  Mrs.  Smith — it 's  the  only  acco7n' 
plisJiment  that  the  More's  possess ;  and  no  wonder  they 
carry  it  to  such  perfection,  and  pinch  up  their  waists  to 
the  size  of  a  chair-post.  Did  you  ever  see  such  sights 
as  their  waists?" 

*'  They  are  very  small,  indeed." 

"  They  look  perfectly  ridiculous — Mr.  Shaw  can't 
bear  such  forms ;  he  says  a  little  waist  is  a  deformity 
ruther  than  a  beauty." 

"  I  think  so  to.  I 've  never  let  Ann  Eliza  lace 
tight* 


Sii6  WIDOVT   BFDOrT  PAPERS. 

"  Well,  you  have  acted  very  judicioiLslj,  Mrs. 
Smith ;  how  is  Ann  Eliza?'" 

*'  She 's  quite  well,  thank  you.  She 's  gone  out  thia 
morning  to  make  calls." 

"  Well,  I  hope  she  'li  go  round  to  our  house. 
Seraph  would  be  so  delighted  to  see  her — Ann  Eliza  'a 
a  lovely  girl.  I 'm  told  she  was  a  great  belle  at  Coon- 
ville." 

"Well,  it 's  not  for  me  to  say  as  to  that." 

"  Of  course — but  you  can't  help  being  proud  of  her, 
Mrs.  Smith.  How  sweetly  she  looked  last  Sabbath 
day  !  Mr.  Shaw  remarked  it.  He  admires  her  style 
of  beauty  excessively.  I  observed  she  had  on  one  of 
the  new-fashioned  capes.  Angeleen  writes  me  that 
they  're  very  much  worn  by  the  first  in  New  York." 

"  Yes — Ann  Eliza  heard  they  were  very  fashion- 
able among  genteel  people.  Have  you  heard  from 
Angeleen,  lately?" 

"Keceived  a  letter  yesterday — she's  very  happy  . 
says  she 's  engaged  in  one  constant  round  of  parties 
and  swearees — -just  what  Angel  likes,  you  know; 
she 's  so  fond  of  society.  She  says,  give  my  love  to 
all  the  girls,  but  particularly  to  Ann  Eliza  Smith, 
She  does  love  Ann  Eliza.    Bat  I  must  go.'^ 

"  Don't  be  in  haste,  Mrs.  Shaw." 

*'  0,  I 've  staid  a  long  time.  I  always  do  stay  for- 
ever when  I  come  here.  Kow  do  come  round  Mra 
Smith — run  in  at  any  time — don't  bs  ceremonious 


MORNING  CALLS. 


I  never  use  any  ceremony  with  my  particular  friend^ 
Tell  Ann  Eliza  to  come  round,  etC:  etc.''' 

Her  next  call  is  at  Mr.  Price's,  the  minister. 
How  do  you  Jo,  Mrs.  Price  ?" 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you — how  are  you,  Mrs.  Shaw  ?" 

"  Poorly,  Mrs.  Price — quite  poorly." 

''I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  it.'' 
•  "  Eeally,  Mrs.  Price,  I  must  take  you  to  task  for  not 
coming  round  to  see  me  this  long  time.    You 've  not 
done  your  duty  as  a  minister's  wife." 

"  I 've  not  been  able  to  go,  Mrs.  Shaw.  Gustas  has 
been  sick  with  the  m easels,  and  I 've  not  been  out  at 
all  for  three  weeks." 

"  My  stars !  how  you  shock  me,  Mrs.  Price.  I  have 
n't  heard  a  word  of  Augustus  being  sick,  or  I  should 
3ertainly  have  been  round ;  I  always  go  to  see  the 
sick  if  I  am  able  to  crawl— but  my  health  is  so  preca- 
rious that  I  very  seldom  get  out.  I  told  Mr.  Shaw  the 
morning  was  50  fine  I  mmt  get  out  and  see  my  minis- 
ter's folks,  though  it 's  a  very  long  walk  for  me.  How 
is  dear  little  Gusty  now?" 

"  Much  better — so  as  to  be  able  to  go  to  school  to 
dav." 

'  I 'm  very  glad — very  indeed.  Augustus  is  such  a 
noble  boy — Mr.  Shaw  says  he  is  without  exception  the 
finest  child  he  ever  saw,  "What  a  mercy  that  t);^Q 
Lord  saw  fit  to  spare  him ! 

"  It  was,  indeed — I  feel  to  be  thankful." 


S98 


WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 


*•  Id  Mr.  Price  at  home  ?" 
"  He  is.    1 11  speak  to  him." 

*'  Now  don't  disturb  him,  Mrs.  Price,  if  he 's  en« 
gaged  ;  but  his  conversation  is  50  instructive  I  would 
like  excessively  to  see  him." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Price,  I  hope  you 're  well — quite  well?" 

Perfectly  so.  Sister  Shaw.  I  trust  you  are  in  the 
enjoyment  of  more  comfortable  corporeal  health  than 
has  recently  fallen  to  your  lot?" 

I  regret  that  I  am  not,  Mr.  Price — my  health  is 
very  delicate — I  assure  you,  it  was  a  great  exertion 
for  me  to  walk  so  far  this  morning.  I  told  Mr.  Shaw 
I  would  n't  have  thought  of  going  such  a  distance  to 
see  any  one  but  you  and  Mrs.  Price." 

^'  Y-e-s — I  assure  you.  Sister  Shaw,  I  appreciate  the 
efforL.,  and  am  truly  gratified  to  see  you." 

Thank  you,  Mr.  Price,  it  does  me  so  much  good  to 
talk  with  you  occasionally." 

Y-e-s — well,  how  do  you  f-e-e-1  now,  Sister  ShaAv, 
in  regard  to  your  mind  ?" 

0,  Mr.  Price,  I  can  not  say  that  I  always  feel  as  1 
ought  to — owing  to  the  precarious  state  of  my  health, 
tc.y  feelings  are  variable." 

Y-e  s — quite  natural  they  should  be  so." 

Bometimes  I  fbel  a  degree  of  coldness  and  apathy, 
and  am  almost  tempted  to  give  up  my  hope ;  and  again 
I  e-^Derience  great  comfort,  and  my  evidences  of  ac- 
ceptance are  very  strong." 


MORNING  CALLS. 


399 


"Y-e-s — as  a  general  thing,  you  enjoy  religion,  I 
suppose  ?" 

"  I  do  50 — 0,  Mr.  Price,  what  should  I  do  without 
religion  ?  I  cell  Mr.  Shaw,  that  with  my  miserable 
health,  religion  is  my  only  support." 
Y-e-s— how  does  Mr.  Shaw  feel?" 
O,  Mr.  Price,  I  regret  to  say,  that  he  does  not  feel 
his  lost  and  ruined  condition  as  sensibly  as  1  could 
wish  0 !  O !  if  that  man  only  had  saving  faith — and 
if  Serapheen  was  only  a  Christian — my  happiness 
wo^dd  be  complete!" 

*'  Y-e-s — I  trust  that  you  wrestle  for  them,  without 
ceasing  at  the  throne  of  grace  ?" 

"  I  do  50,  Mr.  Price — I  do  50." 
Y-e-s — and  do  you  feel,  that  in  case  the  Lord 
should  see  fit  to  disregard  your  petitions,  and  consign 
them  to  everlasting  misery,  you  could  acquiesce  in  hiB 
decrees,  and  rejoice  in  their  destruction  ?" 

"  I  feel  that  I  could  without  a  murmur." 

"  Y-e-s — I  am  very  happy,  Sister  Shaw,  to  find  yo-i 
in  such  a  desirable  state  of  mind." 

"  But,  Mr,  Price,  I  feel  at  times  excessively  exei- 
cised,  in  view  of  the  low  state  of  religion  in  Oreeu' 
ville,  now." 

"Y-e-s — ^it  is  truly  melancholy,  the  woys  of  Zc-yj. 
languish." 

They  do  so — ^ii  ^s  time  v/e  had  another  protracted 
meeting.    1  don't  know  when  T  Vc  had  my  feelings  so 


100  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

rried  ^  they  liave  been  this  morniDg,  to  see  the  cold- 
ness and  worldUness  of  some  of  our  people.  On  my 
way  here,  I  stopped  to  rest  at  several  places — and  0, 
my  dear  Mr.  Price !  it  was  so  distressing  to  witness 
the  unconcern  that  was  manifested." 
"  Y-e-s." 

"  I  called  at  Mrs.  Barber's — they  're  very  irreligious 
people  3^ou  know." 

Y-e-s — no  experimental  acquaintance  wdth  savmg 
faith." 

"None  whatever.  The  old  lady's  quite  sick — on 
her  death-bed,  perhaps — I  did  n't  see  her — they  did  n't 
ask  me  to  go  in — ^you  know  they  're  very  peculiar 
people — so  distant.  I  did  want  to  see  her,  and  find 
out  how  she  felt — and  whether  she  expected  to  get  to 
heaven  on  good  works  now.  You  kno^v  jou  used  to 
think  she  did." 

"  Y-e-s — I  had  reason  to  suppose  so,  from  her  con- 
duct.'^ 

"  It  would  be  dreadful,  if  the  old  lady  should  die  in 
such  a  state  of  mind — would  n't  it,  Mr.  Price  ?" 
"Y-e-s— 

*  Behold  the  aged  sinner  goes, 
Laden  with  guilt  and  heavy  woes, 
Do\m  to  the  regions  of  the  dead 
With  endless  curses  on  her  head.' 

jIow  remarkably  those  words  of  the  sacred  poet  ap- 
ply to  her  case  I" 

"  They  do  so    I  did  n't  see  Mi:s.  George  Barber  nei- 


MORNING  CALLS. 


401 


ther.  She  was  with  the  old  lady — ^but  I  saw  Marv — 
what  a  hardened  girl  she  is !  Why,  Mr.  Price,  she 
actually  called  on  the  name  of  the  adversary  of  souls 
in  the  course  of  her  conversation.  I  never  was  so 
shocked!" 

"  Dreadful !  awfully  dreadful,  Sister  Shaw  1" 
■  "  And  the  Mores,  too — I  was  in  there — ^how  excess- 
ively worldly  they  are — ^think  of  nothing  but  making 
and  saving  money — and  what  is  money  good  for? 
nothing — just  nothing,  Mr.  Price — it 's  the  root  of  all 
evil,  Mr.  Price." 

"Y-e-s— y-e-s." 

Though  poor  Mr.  Price  thought  in  his  heart  that  a 
little  of  that  same  root  would  n't  come  amiss  to  him. 

"And  Dr.  Smith's  people — I  called  there,  too — 
what  a  poor,  silly  woman,  Mrs.  Smith  is — entirely  de- 
voted to  the  world  and  its  follies.  She  thinks  more 
of  having  her  daughter  shine  in  society,  than  she  does 
of  saving  her  soul^  I  do  believe.  0,  Mr.  Price,  I  was 
sick  at  heart — I  could  have  wept  as  I  sat  ther(3,  and 
heard  that  woman  run  on  about  her  daughter  being  a 
belle,  and  dressing  in  style  and  all  that.  Poor  Ann 
Eliza !  she  has  no  parent  to  wrestle  for  her  at  the 
throne  of  grace,  as  my  dear  Serepheen  has !  I  do  feel 
for  her — ^no  wonder  that  she 's  such  a  trifling^  thought- 
less  thing." 

"Y-e-s — it  Ls  truly  melancholy  to  be  in  her  condi- 
tion." 


402  WIDOW   BEDOTT  PAPERS. 

"  0,  there an  alarming  state  of  things  in  Green- 
ville now,  Mr.  Price — we  must  have  a  protracted  meet- 
ing, Mr.  Price." 

Y-e-s,  Sister  Shaw,  we  must  endeavor  to  do  so." 

"  I  feel  as  if  something  must  be  done  for  impenitent 
sinners  in  Greenville.  It 's  three  years  since  we  had  a 
special  effort — 't  was  before  you  came  here,  Mr.  Price 
— there  was  a  great  outpouring  of  the  Spirit — Angel- 
een  experienced  rehgion— :and  I  feel  to  believe,  that  if 
we  could  h?ave  another,  Mr.  Shaw  and  Serapheen 
would  come  out.  And  then  a  great  many  of  those 
that  were  hopefully  converted  at  the  la.st  meeting,  have 
gone  back  into  the  world,  and  want  to  be  re-converted. 
We  must  get  up  a  revival,  Mr.  Price.  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

"  Y-e-s,  I  feel  convinced  that  a  protracted  effort  might 
be  signally  blest  if  the  church  would  come  up  to  the 
work.  Speaking  of  your  absent  daughter,  Sister  Shaw 
have  you  heard  from  her  lately  ?" 

''I  have  so — received  a  letter  yesterday.  She  de- 
sired to  be  particularly  remembered  to  her  dear  friendS; 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Price." 

"  Y-e-s,  thank  you — did  she  say  what  was  the  state 
of  religion  in  New  York  now  ?" 

"  Very  loWj  she  says — ^very  low,  indeed.  She  at- 
tends Dr.  Kittles'  church  with  her  uncle's  family ;  but 
she  says  she  does  want  to  hear  one  of  your  excellent, 
soiritual  sermons  again,  Mr.  Price.    ^>he 's  heartily 


MORNING  CALLS. 


sick  of  the  gayetj  of  the  city.  She 's  obliged  to  min- 
gle in  it  some,  you  know ;  but  such  things  are  very 
uncongenial  to  Angel's  taste.  She  does  long  to  come 
home  to  her  old  friends,  and  sit  under  her  dear  Mr. 
Price's  preaching  once  more.  Angel  is  very  much  at- 
tached to  you  and  Mrs.  Price,  and  so  fond  of  retire- 
ment. *  Ma,'  she  says  in  her  letter,  *  I 'm  utterly  worn 
out  with  visits,  parties,  and  swearees.'  " 

"  Swearees  !  I  trust  those  are  not,  as  the  name  im- 
ports, profane  assemblages." 

"  By  no  means,  Mr.  Price,  '  Swearees'  is  the  French 
for  'ice-cream  parties ;'  but  I  must  go — ^my  visits  here 
are  so  refreshing.  I  always  stay  longer  than  I  intend 
to.  What  an  intensely  interesting  sermon  you  gave  us 
last  Sabbath  day,  Mr.  Price  it  did  me  so  much  good. 
Mr.  Shaw  was  excessively  delighted  with  it — '  that  '5 
what  I  call  preaching,'  said  he  to  me,  as  we  were  going 
home.  O,  Mr.  Price,  it  is  such  a  deprivation  to  me 
not  to  be  able  to  attend  the  evening  prayer-meeting 
oftener,  but  my  health  is  so  precarious  that  I  can  not 
do  as  inclination  prompts  ;  but  I  feel  that  such  depri- 
vations are  sent  as  trials  to  my  faith." 

Y-e-s,  undoubtedly.  Sister  Shaw — and  I  trust  that 
your  faith  will  be  strengthened  by  them." 

"  I  do  most  ardently  hope  so — ^but  I  must  go — now 
do  come  round,  Mr.  Price,  and  you,  Mrs.  Price,  I  think 
sc  much  of  having  you  come." 


t 


